


Long, Slow Burn

by Lopsided_Whiskey_Grin



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Character Death, Come Marking, Dorian/John Kennex - Freeform, Fluff, John Kennex/Dorian, Knotting, Love Confessions, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Verse, Oral Sex, Possible Mpreg, Pregnancy, Sexual Content, Violence/abuse, i cant help but see the characters in omegaverse whenever i watch this show now, i'm cracking out on this guys, jorian - Freeform, labor, marking/bonding, tw: mention of suicide, tw: near rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:18:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 68,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lopsided_Whiskey_Grin/pseuds/Lopsided_Whiskey_Grin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's heat cycle catches him off guard, and Dorian wants to do all he can to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the Omega-verse category, hope everyone enjoys! (I know I did!) ^_^

Detective John Kennex awoke with a start, jolted out of a deep sleep by the same nightmare that had haunted him every night since he had come out of his coma; the monumentally fucked up events surrounding the day he had lost his partner and best friend Martin, and not to mention his goddamn leg. 

The unresolved nature of the attack kept stabbing at him, and combined with the almost overwhelming guilt over Martin’s death, had resulted in more sleepless nights than John cared to even count. Snapping awake in the dark, hours before his shift was to start, with a pounding heart and sweat slicking his skin was by this point, a nightly occurrence. 

But tonight, something was different- the skin under the coating of perspiration was too heated, the sheets surrounding his body too damp. 

John groaned, turning onto his side, and curling in on himself. He had been so caught up in the Silas Homicide Case at work that he had completely forgotten his approaching heat cycle, had not even prepared with suppressants. And now it was too late, nothing would dampen the effects of the heat that was already beginning to scorch through him, nothing but the thick knot of an Alpha. 

John moaned, nesting into the sheets and blankets around him, the fabric scraping roughly across his heated, over-sensitized skin, his suddenly achingly erect cock straining against his boxers. Without the suppressant to soften the blow, John knew this would be the first full-out heat he’d experience since his differentiation as an Omega at the late-blooming age of eighteen. He’d always been so careful, always taking his suppressants with enough time for them to kick in and squelch the pheromones and hormones before they had a chance to numb his brain and reduce him to a mewling, shameless, wanting mess. 

He had always seen himself as strong, willful, even with the tractable title of Omega. Never one to beg or plead, John only ever relied on himself, stubbornly denying the submissive nature of the Omega dynamic. 

But now, with the strongest heat he had experienced in years searing his skin, burning all coherent thought from his mind, enveloping his body in a relentless arousal, John wanted nothing more than to offer himself fully to an Alpha- to be taken in any and every fucking way possible. He felt like he’d die with the ferocity of need arcing through him, threatening to consume him with its fire, leaving nothing but ash if he wasn’t fucked into and soon. 

A hot rush of arousal flushed through him, leaving him shivering and wanting, a thick trail of moisture beginning to run down his inner thigh, and he groaned again, pushing his hips against the mattress beneath him, trying desperately to find relief for his throbbing cock. 

John tried to bury himself deeper into his nest, only trying to find some kind of release, when he suddenly felt a firm hand on his shoulder, the touch burning into his skin even under the sheets. His whole body stiffened and he whipped his head up, staring straight into the unnervingly calm face of his DRN Dorian. The faintest hint of concern played across his features as he stood looking down at John. 

John tried flinching away from Dorian’s hand, but his body simply would not comply, wanting only to feel more of the touch, feel it on his bare skin without the barrier of the sheets between them. His cock twitched eagerly at the thought and a fresh trail of wet slicked down his thigh. 

Dorian shifted his hand slightly, an intricate pattern of blue flashing down the side of his face, and John whimpered helplessly, feeling the heat abate somewhat for a moment, then quickly crash back over him again, hotter than ever, knocking the breath from his chest. 

“Dorian, what the fuck are you doing here?” John gasped out harshly, suddenly angry and ashamed at being seen in such a vulnerable state. 

Dorian pulled his hand back slowly and John immediately turned his face into the mattress, whining at the loss of contact. 

“You’re in heat,” Dorian said, stating the fact like John had no fucking clue as to why he was suddenly so desperate to be spread open and bred into by the next cock that happened to pass by. 

“No shit.”

He heard Dorian heave a heavy sigh, though he knew the bastard didn’t even need to breath air, then felt the mattress shift as he sat down on the bed beside John bundled under the bedding. 

“John, you need to stay hydrated.”

He peeked out from the covers, seeing Dorian holding out a glass of water, and forced back the whimper building in his throat at how closely Dorian was sitting beside him, grasping onto the last bit of his self-control that kept him from pushing his hips forward to hump up against Dorian’s thigh. 

He instead pushed himself to a sitting position, gasping at the sudden blast of cool air that hit his heated skin as the sheets fell away and pooled around his waist. Dorian passed the glass over to him and he grasped it in a trembling hand. His cock, still achingly erect, spasmed when Dorian’s fingers brushed his as he helped to bring the cup to John’s mouth. 

The cold water that hit his lips was like the finest wine, crisp and pure and absolutely necessary, and he chugged it down greedily, dribbling a bit on his chin in his haste. 

Dorian smiled, not unkindly, and brought a hand up, wiping the moisture from John’s bottom lip with his thumb. The contact sent a heated shock of desire straight to John’s engorged dick, coiling the arousal in his gut even tighter. 

“What’re you doing?” he whispered hoarsely, his lust fogged brain shouting that it didn’t matter, just take it, take whatever he’ll offer you!

Those electric blue lines flashed down Dorian’s face again. “Helping you.”

Apprehension mixed fluidly with the desire thrumming through his veins. “There’s not a damn thing you can do, Dor-” John’s words were cut off by a fresh wave of heat that seared through him violently. He cried out and lay back down on his side, curling in on himself to try and relive the building pressure in his cock. Tears began to well in his eyes. 

He felt Dorian shift beside him, quiet for a moment before speaking, “My creator endowed me with the anatomical features capable of catering to both Alpha and Omega dynamics. Please John, I hate to see you like this.”

John huffed out an incredulous and bitter laugh. “Like what? Weak?” Need shook his voice.

“No, John. I hate to see you suffer, when I can so easily give you what you are craving.”

John groaned into the mattress, squeezing his eyes shut, the wetness between his thighs beginning to drip down onto the bedding. Another wave of heat crested over him and he nodded brusquely. “Okay, okay. Yes. Please.” The words tumbled out of him, pride forgotten, needing only to submit before he died from the intense yearning clenching at him. 

The cloying and musky scent of Alpha suddenly filled the room, intermingling with his own scent. He knew Dorian was putting out the pheromone somehow, and even though he knew it must be artificial, he couldn’t be bothered to care. There was an enticingly soothing quality to it- the promise of being well bred and sated.

There was a gentle rustling sound and John suddenly felt the blankets being pulled off of him. He looked up slowly, his eyes following the lean line of Dorian’s bare body, centering his gaze on his blue-gray eyes, so much like the sky over a stormy sea, before dropping back down to his cock, thick and heavy between his legs, already hard. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight and quickly shimmied out of his boxer shorts and sleep shirt, automatically starting to turn onto his stomach to be able to offer himself. 

Dorian’s hand on his naked hip stilled him immediately. He moved his head to look up at him. “Please, Dorian.”

Dorian’s gaze flicked down to John’s amputated leg, that stark reminder of the day he almost lost his life, and on most days wish he had. “That is not a position that will be comfortable for you, John.”

Christ, did he have to keep saying his name like that? A shimmer of heat wracked through him and he shuddered. “Do what you have to do, but please just fuck me,” John growled impatiently. 

Dorian grasped John’s shoulder firmly, flipping him onto his back roughly, and pinning his wrists above his head, a rebuke for directing such an impertinent noise at his Alpha.

John immediately yielded, stilling and baring his neck in submission. Heat flushed his body and he lay motionless, panting to catch his breath. 

Dorian, seemingly pleased with his unspoken apology, released his wrists and quickly settled between John’s thighs, his eyes raking over the glistening moisture coating John’s legs. John could swear he saw a glimmer of arousal in Dorian’s eyes as the DRN moved forward to press a soft kiss to John’s lips. It was a gentle thing, too tender for the relentless desire screaming through his veins. He quickly brought his hands up to the back of Dorian’s head, holding him close, assaulting his mouth roughly, feeling the slick glide of Dorian’s tongue against his. John moaned wantonly and heard Dorian echo the sound. And while John couldn’t be sure that Dorian was ever really created for this type of pleasure, he knew that if he didn’t take all that Dorian was offering he would surely burn up from the inside out. 

Dorian pulled back from his mouth and John couldn’t help the whine that sighed out from his lips, until he saw that Dorian was positioning the head of his cock against his soaked entrance. He pushed in without preamble, seating himself fully inside John, filling him in the most perfect way. John cried out with the ecstasy of it, bringing his hands up to grip at Dorian’s shoulders as some of the heat finally began to abate. 

And then Dorian began to move- a slow slide out followed by a gracefully rough thrust back in, the motions sending unending shockwaves through all of John’s nerve endings. They quickly fell into a matching rhythm, and soon, the pounding pushes and pulls that Dorian extracted shredded whatever coherent thought John was capable of and all he could do was moan against the onslaught. 

John angled his hips higher, needing to feel Dorian deeper, and felt Dorian’s cock glance over a bundle of nerves inside of him, the movement sending electric bolts of pleasure zinging straight to his dick. His head fell back and he gritted his teeth against the almost overwhelming sensation. 

He heard Dorian groan above him, felt how his thrusts suddenly became erratic, before he pushed in roughly one last time, stilling, and crying out John’s name in a broken stutter as his cock immediately began to swell inside him, knotting him. Dorian pushed forward once more weakly, hitting John’s prostate again with enough force to send him spiraling over the edge. He shouted hoarsely as his release was ripped from him, coating his stomach and chest in thick spurts, and he clenching down tightly around Dorian’s cock. 

John wrenched his head up, locking his eyes on Dorian’s, seeing the pure bliss there as his Alpha’s seed began pouring into him, filling him, warm and wet and perfect. 

Dorian looked down at him, those electric blue lines tracing rapidly up and down his face, thrumming just as quickly as John’s heart was beating. John pulled in great gasping breaths just as Dorian moved forward to capture his lips in a deep kiss. Dorian’s still-swollen knot tugged inside of him, sending a tremor of pleasure wracking through him. 

Dorian settled on top of him, giving John a moment to catch his breath, his eyes ghosting over John’s face. 

“How long will it last?” John asked huskily, glancing down at their joined bodies, still feeling Dorian’s knot stretching him open, still feeling the trembling aftershocks of his orgasm shaking through him. The worst of his heat had dissipated, but he knew that with a heat this strong that it would not truly leave his body for possibly another twenty-four hours, depending on how soon Dorian’s knot subsided, depending on how soon he’d be able to work John through the next wave of heat he could already feel approaching. He groaned as he felt his cock beginning to harden again. 

Dorian’s eyes never left his face. “How long would you like?” The barest hint of a smile curved at his lips. 

A sweltering burn scorched across John’s skin and he smiled back, he couldn’t help it. He craned his neck up, slotting his lips across Dorian’s in a quick, thorough kiss before pulling back and rocking his hips up just enough so that his hardening cock brushed against Dorian’s stomach. 

“Give me your best guess.”

The intricate pattern of electric blue lines flashed down Dorian’s face. “Do you want an exact calculation or an approximation, John?” he asked as he leaned forward to press a soul-searing kiss to John’s mouth. 

John was not given a chance to reply.


	2. All Consuming Fire

It was nearing one o’clock in the afternoon and John was no closer to the end of his heat than when it had first hit him, jolting him awake at three that morning. The heat had been relentless, pummeling into him, asking more of him than he thought he could ever give; and when he gave all he was able, it demanded more. 

Dorian had held on like a fucking champ, though, working John through each round with an attentive and thoughtful thoroughness that John hadn’t known the DRN was capable of. He knew Dorian was developed to be as emotionally analogous to the feelings of his human counterparts as possible, he just hadn’t expected Dorian to innately understand where John needed his touch the most, knowing when he burned for rough handling, sensing when John craved the barest hint of a caress, and all with scarcely a fucking word spoken between them. 

It was so hard for him to remember, with the unrelenting heat demanding so much of his rational mind, with the blissfully heavy press of Dorian’s body on top of his feeling so goddamn _right_ , that Dorian was not _really_ Alpha, as not _really_ human. And the more that line blurred, the more John began to worry. Would he come out of this heat the same determined, obstinate defender of his hard-won independence, or would he finally be reduced to the submissive, unquestioning Omega he always feared he’d become, subservient to none other than his own fucking DRN? Was such a thing even possible? Bonding to an _android_? John could think of nothing more humiliating. It was almost enough to push him out of the bed, to make him run as far away from Dorian as possible, at least until his heat had broken. But with the scent of Dorian’s pheromones, heavy and intoxicating, suffusing the entire room, permeating him from the inside out, seeping into his fucking pores, John knew he wouldn’t be leaving the bed until his heat was well and truly broken.

John squeezed his eyes shut and groaned roughly, his voice raw and hoarse with the ferocity of the sounds Dorian had continued to rip from him with each building release. Another wave of heat began to creep over his skin, swelling his cock painfully, and he rolled onto his side, seeking out Dorian’s touch.

His eyes flew open when he found he was alone in the bed. Dread flooded his entire body instantly and he scrambled to sit up, tangled in the wrecked bedding beneath him. He didn’t know what he’d do if Dorian had just decided to up and leave him in the thick of his fucking heat. Panic surged through his heart, nearly paralyzing him.

He had only experienced one other heat in his life, his first at the age of eighteen, and even then, he had never been left alone. The Alpha that had worked him through it then had been at his side constantly, and even if it was only a compulsory, impersonal fuck, at least he hadn’t just left John by himself.

_God-fucking-damnit, Kennex, pull yourself together_ he chided himself harshly. He was stronger than this and he knew it. There were Omegas all over the world, and there was no possible way _each_ one had an Alpha to help work them through their heat every single time- suffering through it alone had surely never killed anyone, even though John felt like it might.

He worked to slow his breathing just as another shimmer of heat struck him low in his gut, demanding release. He wrapped an arm tightly around his middle and used the other to shimmy his way to the edge of the bed, desperately needing a glass of water, damning his dynamic viciously the whole way for having so much control over him.

He swung his leg over the edge of the mattress, absently swiping at a bead of perspiration that rolled down his temple with a trembling hand, wondering how the _hell_ he thought he was going to get to the fucking kitchen when that’s where his goddamn prosthetic was.

Dorian suddenly appeared from around the privacy screen beside John’s bed, stark naked and bringing with him a thick, heady cloud of pheromones in his wake. John nearly sobbed out his relief at seeing him standing there, and felt a fresh gush of wet slick between his legs.

Dorian, seeing John’s distress, stepped quickly to the bed, setting down on the nightstand the glass of water he had been holding. He knelt down in front of John, bringing his hand up to John’s forehead, concern drawing his brows together. Electric blue lines flashed down his face as he gauged John’s temperature.  

“Why are you trying to get out of bed? You’re still burning up, John.”

“That’s because I’m still in heat, genius,” John bit out tersely. “Where the fuck were you?” John flinched inwardly at his own sharp words, not only because in that moment Dorian was his Alpha, but also because of the flicker of hurt that flashed across the DRN’s face. He did not attempt to apologize, though, feeling that distancing himself at this point would only keep him from finding himself an unbearably eager and amenable Omega after all this was over.

Dorian’s hand slipped from his forehead to cup his cheek. John swallowed back the whimper in his throat and fought the urge to turn his face into Dorian’s touch, even as his traitorous cock twitched excitedly at the contact.

Dorian’s eyes searched his face. “I went to get you water, John. You need to stay-”

“If you say ‘hydrated’ one more fucking time, Dorian, I swear to Christ-”

His words were abruptly cut off as Dorian suddenly stood up, grasping John’s chin roughly and wrenching his head up to look at him as he stood above him. A low growl reverberated out through Dorian’s chest and John felt a heated rush of moisture soak the sheets beneath him.

He tried pulling his face from Dorian’s grip, but Dorian only tightened his fingers, holding John’s chin hard enough to bruise.

“Why are you fighting this? Why now, when we are barely halfway through your heat?” Dorian demanded, electric lines coursing rapidly up and down his face like blue fire. 

Anger welled hotly inside of John’s stomach, overpowering for a moment the unrelenting heat pounding through him- Anger at the thought of losing his self-reliant identity, anger at the dynamic he had been born into that dictated how the world saw him, anger at himself for forgetting his fucking suppressants, and anger at not knowing how to express _any_ of that to Dorian.

John stared back at him defiantly, blatantly refusing to drop his eyes. “Because this is demeaning as fucking hell and I hate it. I _refuse_ to submit to you or anyone.” A tremor of heat wracked through him, but he held still stubbornly, though it nearly killed him to do it.

Dorian blinked his slate blue eyes, seemingly taken aback, but did not drop his hand from John’s chin. “According to my constructs, it is in your nature as an Omega in heat to want to-” he began.

“Well then fuck nature, Dorian! And fuck your goddamn constructs!” John roared desperately, bringing his hands up to wrench Dorian’s fingers from his face. “When, in all this time we’ve known each other, have you ever seen me act like a fucking Omega? You, of all people should know how it feels to be categorized as something you feel you’re not!”

_Synthetic, Crazy, Emotionally Compromised._ The unspoken words hung heavy between them.

An unreadable expression darkened Dorian’s features and he immediately stepped back from John, blue lines tracing down his face.

The loss of the skin-to-skin contact of Dorian’s hand immediately left John feeling bereft and lacking and he hated himself for it. He wrapped his arms around his middle tightly, coming to the end of his strength reserves, too weak to fight against the insistence of the heat beating at him. He closed his eyes tightly and brought his chin down to rest on his chest, struggling to reign in the hopeless and bitter tears prickling hotly at the back of his eyes and throat. He had no idea how he’d survive this heat without continuing to submit himself to Dorian in every demeaning way possible, when that’s all his body screamed for him to do.

He had fought his entire fucking life to buck the conventions of the Omega dynamic, fought against every person that had told him that he’d never make detective, much less be strong enough to graduate from the police academy, had stubbornly fought against his ignorant relatives that had insisted it was time for him to settle down with an Alpha and give up this ‘loner’ business before he embarrassed the entire family.

But now, he wondered miserably, that even if he did come through this the same independent, headstrong Omega he was before, that the memory of how he had behaved during this heat would forever mar some deep, private part of himself.

Dorian’s voice drifted over to him, the barest hint of a whisper, but still sending violent shockwaves straight to his aching cock nonetheless. “John, would it help if you had more control over the situation?”

John looked up slowly, not understanding.

Dorian held his gaze. “Would it help if you had control over _me_? I won’t touch you until you demand it of me. I won’t even move until you tell me it’s okay. It has only ever been my job to shield you from as much pain as possible, John. Please allow me to help in _some_ way.”

John considered his offer for a moment, as well as he was able with the disorienting fog of arousal beginning to cloud his mind again. He didn’t know if he had ever heard of an Omega holding any sort of dominance over an Alpha in the thick of a heat.

“Has an Omega ever done something like that?” he asked huskily, near breathless from the heat the continued to build inside of him.

Dorian cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms across his broad chest, a faint smile curving at the corner of his mouth. “When have I ever seen you act like an Omega, John?”

A weak chuckle welled out from John’s chest and with it, some of the aching tension coiling in his stomach. He nodded his assent, earning a wide grin from Dorian, who quickly turned on his heel, heading toward John’s prosthetic leg docked in the kitchen, presumably so that John would have more mobility.

He returned to the bedside, kneeling down before John, silently awaiting his permission to bring his hands up to attach the prosthetic.

John swallowed against a dry throat. “Go ahead,” he said roughly.

Dorian quickly busied himself with attaching the limb, hands moving deftly. His nimble fingers, high up on John’s thigh, lightly brushed against his balls. John sucked in a sharp breath as a deep throbbing need pulsed through him at the fleeting touch, and Dorian immediately stilled. He looked up to John’s face, gauging his comfort level, ready to draw his hands back at John’s request.

John nodded brusquely. “It’s okay, just hurry,” he groaned out through clenched teeth.

Dorian complied in record time, then looked up at John expectantly. “What next?” he asked. “You control all of this now, John,” he said in response to John’s slightly baffled expression.

John licked his lips and rasped a hand up and down the stubble on his cheek, trying to get his mind to focus beyond that single phrase that looped nonstop in his brain: _GET HIS FUCKING KNOT IN ME NOW_

He cleared his throat, trying to get into the assertive mindset he used on a daily basis. “Lay down on the bed,” he directed, forcing the tremble from his voice. “And put your hands up by the headboard.”

Dorian did as instructed without a word of protest, watching John with an intense interest as John stood from the bed on slightly wobbly legs.

John took a few steps to his department gear that he had thrown over a chair beside the bed, stopping for a moment when a sudden rush of moisture down his thighs left him feeling lightheaded.

He straightened his back and squared his shoulders, forcing himself to remember that he controlled this, controlled all of it. And after dragging in a deep, centering breath, he fished out a pair of standard issue handcuffs from his jacket pocket, then walked the few steps back to the bed and crawled over the expanse of mattress to where Dorian lay, his body long and lean, his cock hard and curving up toward his stomach. A single line of electric blue pulsed down Dorian’s cheek as he watched John kneel beside him and stretch up to cuff his wrists to the headboard, both knowing Dorian could snap through the metal any time he wanted. John saw it as a symbolic measure of trust that only added to Dorian’s surprising and completely unexpected thoughtfulness throughout this whole ordeal. 

A fresh sheen of perspiration broke out on John’s skin and his heart was racing by the time he sat back on his haunches after securing Dorian. The heat he had been holding off so well suddenly struck him with a brutal force and it was all he could do to stay upright.

He quickly straddled Dorian’s narrow hips, grasping the DRN’s cock and centering it at his leaking entrance. He looked down at Dorian before he started his descent down, wondering at the amount of control _Dorian_ had to have at the moment for not desperately trying to buck his hips up when his dick sat flush against an Omega’s hole. But John wasn’t entirely sure any of his own heated pheromones affected Dorian as they would a hot-blooded human Alpha, if he was only doing this as a service to John, was only following through the motions of a preloaded software program without gaining any type of pleasure from this.

Dorian stared up at him, an encouraging smile curving at his lips. “Whenever you’re ready, John.”

John nodded, finally giving into the scorching heat licking into the deepest parts of him, and let his eyes slip closed just as he let Dorian’s cock slip inside of him. He brought himself down until he was seated on Dorian’s hips, a long, shuddering moan escaping his lips at the deep penetration the position allowed him, wondering why they hadn’t tried this angle before.

John opened his eyes slowly and looked down at Dorian beneath him, arms stretched tautly over his head. And ever true to his word, Dorian did not move, only watched John with a sheer, unmasked fascination.

John brought his hands down to Dorian’s chest to leverage himself, experimenting with a few slow rises up and down on Dorian’s cock, driving himself near senseless from the pure bliss of it, before he locked his eyes with Dorian’s and using his deepest, most commanding voice, ordered him to move.

Dorian happily complied, thrusting his hips up sharply, working to synch up with John’s pushes down. It took a moment for their movements to fall into an even give and take, but even then, with the perfectly heavy and thick feel of Dorian’s cock filling him, John felt as if it were not complete. There was something missing from the ecstasy of it.

He looked down at Dorian as he rode him, suddenly realizing why. There was nothing about this that was equal. For as much as he hated being reduced to that subservient, obedient Omega, he hated to an even greater extent, putting Dorian in that position. He intimately knew how that humiliating loss of control felt, hollowing out some small part of your soul, perhaps not permanently, but leaving an emptiness nonetheless. He knew he couldn’t submit Dorian to that either, even if Dorian might not care less one way or another about how John treated him. That, added to the fact that John’s body fiercely demanded Dorian’s touch, had him reaching up to the cuffs at Dorian’s wrists, trying to stretch up enough to undo them without pulling himself completely off of Dorian’s cock.

Dorian looked up at him as he struggled. “Tell me what you need, John.”

He glanced down to him. “I-I don’t want it like this, Dorian. I need your goddamn hands on me,” he somehow managed to get the words out.

The blue lines on Dorian’s face lit up, and John swore he saw a flicker of admiration cross his features for a fraction of a second, before Dorian’s heavily muscled arms tightened. The chain connecting the cuffs broke clean in two and he brought his hands down to John’s hips immediately. The metal of the broken handcuffs still circled Dorian’s wrists, biting into his skin as Dorian held him tightly.

And then it was perfect. John rose and fell on Dorian’s cock, growls and whines and moans radiating from them both, a synched give and take that finally began to chase away John’s heat.

He suddenly felt Dorian’s hand around his cock and looked down. No longer Alpha, only equal, only partner now, Dorian gazed back up at him, his eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with arousal, looking so fucking human, that John completely forgot the meaning of the word _android_. Dorian gave three long twists of his hand up John’s cock and then he was coming undone, releasing his spend in thick splashes over Dorian’s stomach.

Dorian followed almost simultaneously, crying out and squeezing his eyes shut as his knot began to swell inside of John, stretching him in an indescribable way, pulsing out his release into John, filling him in a hot rush.

John quickly settled flat on top of Dorian’s chest, suddenly and completely exhausted, his heat finally broken. He fought to catch his breath, pulling in his own scent on Dorian’s skin.

Dorian brought a hand up, fingers combing through John’s hair, breaking up the short sweat-stiffened locks. John could feel Dorian’s other hand move in between them, fingers slipping in the come leaking out of John and John couldn’t help the moan that mumbled out from his lips as sleep started to claim him. 

He felt Dorian’s wet fingers slowly slide against the skin on his neck. “What’re you doing?” he asked sleepily as the strong scent of Dorian’s pheromones flooded his nostrils. 

“I-I don’t know,” Dorian said uncertainly. “It just feels right.” 

John nodded against Dorian’s chest. It did feel right, more than fucking right. He drifted off to a well-deserved and hard-won sleep, wholly sated, with Dorian’s scent seeping into his skin, marking him in a nearly unbreakable way that he would not come to fully realize until the next morning.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My intention is to make this into a multi-chapter piece, but I'm going at it by writing one chapter at a time, so there might be a long stretch between chapters, depending on how much free-time I'll have to be able to write. I hope everyone is enjoying it so far! Thanks to everyone that has read, reviewed, left kudos, and bookmarked ^_^ I really, really appreciate all of your support! If you ever wanna message me, prompt me, or just wanna talk, feel free to look me up at http://lopsided-whiskey-grin.tumblr.com/


	3. Fanning the Flame

John blinked his eyes open slowly against the early morning sunlight that filtered in through the window beside his bed. He stretched his arms over his head and languidly arched his back, loosening the blissfully aching muscles that had been worked in the best way possible yesterday. 

He settled back into the mattress with a contented sigh, feeling more rested than he could ever remember being. It was the first time since he had come out of his coma that he had slept through the night undisturbed by nightmares, or _any_ dreams for that matter. And judging by the red numbers shining at him from the alarm clock, it had been more than just night he had slept through; he had slept through all of yesterday’s afternoon too, having passed out, exhausted and sated, almost as soon as his heat had broken. He had slept nearly seventeen hours in total.

It didn’t really surprise him, how long he had slept, for how strong his heat had been, demanding so much of him, especially after he had suppressed it for so many years. He had been so afraid, for so long, of being reduced to his basest instincts, of not being able to hold off the servile side of the Omega dynamic when the heat took him, that he had meticulously tracked his cycle, had never missed a dose of suppressants even though he knew it was not recommended for an Omega to skip so many heats in a row.

But now it was different. Dorian had shown him that it didn’t have to be as humiliating and debasing as it had been during his first heat. He had shown him that he could actually control the heat, he could gain his own relief as well as pleasure without feeling as if he were only submitting his body to an Alpha to be used as they saw fit.

It was as if Dorian had freed him from the burden of that fear that he had carried with him since his differentiation as an Omega all those years ago. He felt an indescribable weightlessness and he grinned broadly, rolling onto his side, nuzzling into the sheets beneath him, breathing in Dorian’s scent deeply, thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he happened to ‘forget’ his suppressants every now and then; as long as Dorian was there to help work him through the subsequent heat.

Speaking of the bastard…

John sat up slowly, looking around the large, open studio room, but not seeing him. He didn’t feel the same panic from yesterday though, when Dorian had left him alone in the bed; he somehow knew that Dorian had not been gone for long, felt it as a strange, undeniable certainty deep within himself.

 He looked over to his nightstand when his mobile chimed softly, and grabbed up the phone from its charger. There was a short text from Dorian, and John smiled, picturing the lines on the DRN’s face lighting up blue as he sent the message to John’s cell.

[text] Did not want to disturb your sleep, as you so definitely deserved it. I contacted Maldonado and let her know you’d be into the office a little bit late this morning.

John blew out a sigh of relief, eternally grateful for Dorian’s foresight. Work had been the farthest thing from his mind for the last twenty-four hours. And even though yesterday had been a rare day off for John, he knew that without Dorian’s thoughtfulness, he would have had to scramble to get out of the door in the next fifteen minutes, and the good mood he’d woken up with would have dissolved in an instant. 

John made his way to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over, wincing at the slight ache in his ass from the move. He knew he’d probably be sore all over for days, but the smiled to himself, knowing the pain would only remind him of the time spent in the bed, tangled in the sheets with Dorian. He stood slowly and ambled to the kitchen.

A water bottle, fogged coldly with condensation, sat in the middle of the counter, flanked by a small bottle of aspirin. John rolled his eyes, remembering Dorian’s numerous urges for John to stay hydrated, but grabbed up the water anyway, chugging it down with three of the painkillers, trying to stave off the dehydration headache that began to throb a this temples; his reward for ignoring Dorian’s advice.

“Goddamn know-it-all,” John grumbled quietly, but with an unnoticed hint of fondness, as he headed for the bathroom and a nice, hot shower.

He stood under the water’s spray for a long time, washing away the sweat and come coating his skin, letting the steam ease away the aches in his over-worked muscles.

He emerged from the shower, clean and refreshed, and headed straight for the kitchen, wrapped only in a towel slung low on his hips, hungrier than he’d ever been in his life. And why not? He had worked up a huge fucking appetite yesterday. He raided his cabinets and refrigerator, eating anything he could get his hands on, anything he didn’t actually have to cook. And when he had eaten his fill, he made his way toward his closet, padding across the hardwood floors on bare feet.

He dressed quickly in black cargos and a black shirt, throwing his shoulder holster on under a gray jacket. He then sat on the bed to put on his boots, absently reminding himself to wash the bedding when he got back home tonight. A glint of light on metal suddenly caught his eye as he was leaning forward and he glanced to the side of the bed, to the chair where he had thrown his tactical jacket seemingly a lifetime ago. He stilled in lacing up his boots when he saw what had caught the light: his department issue handcuffs, now two separate circlets of metal, lying on the seat of the chair.

John sat stock still, his heart rate increasing immediately, vividly remembering Dorian breaking the cuffs in two, bringing his hands up to John’s hips, gripping hard enough for John to still see the bruises and slight abrasions from the bite of the metal on his skin when he showered this morning. He finished tying his shoes with trembling hands and stepped to the chair. He picked up the cuffs, seeing the twisted metal links of the broken chain, amazed at Dorian’s strength-- strength he could have used against John at any time yesterday, but didn’t.

A coil of arousal that had nothing to do with heat tightened his gut and a cool tingle flushed down the side of his neck in a wide stripe and he set the cuffs down quickly, stepping back and running his hands through his still-damp hair. He blew a heavy breath through pursed lips, trying to tame his suddenly pounding heart. John Kennex did not consider himself an overly sexual person, and had had, even before the raid, trust issues that were only exacerbated by the revelation of Anna’s betrayal that day. He had never been able to form meaningful or long lasting relationships easily, preferring only to pick up random Betas down at McQuaid’s on very rare occasions, knowing he could not truly bond to any of them, fearing the bond perhaps even more than the heat.

Anna had come along during a particularly low point in his life when his father, his only close family, had fallen critically ill and John had felt the world crashing down all around him, leaving him lost and vulnerable. She had comforted him then and he had allowed it, had revealed the fragile Omega side of himself that he always kept hidden, believing her when she told him that he could confide in her, believing her when she told him she was a Beta. He wondered now if there was _anything_ that had come out of her mouth that had not been a fucking lie.

And even then, in the short amount of time they had been together, John had rarely felt the urge to bring her to his bed, chalking up his low sex drive to the suppressants he took constantly. He assumed now that Anna had really been an Alpha, somehow masking her true scent from him, biding her time until John was in heat in order to hold the ultimate amount of control over him, to gain as much Department intel for the Insyndicate as possible. And when he hadn’t cycled, she’d sabotaged the raid John had orchestrated, though it was possible that that had been her intention the entire time.

But despite all of that, before Anna was even in the fucking picture, John found that it sometimes took a fair amount of effort for him to become aroused, outside of the only two heats he had ever experienced in his entire life, when he was anything _but_ aroused. And now? When just picking up a pair of broken handcuffs caused his cock to twitch in an eager anticipation? He didn’t know what it meant, only that he didn’t really want to think about it. Putting off the analysis of potentially emotionally damaging situations was a skill John had honed into a fucking science.

So, he instead busied himself in getting his ass out the door and getting to work. John had purposefully let his mind wander as he drove to the precinct, shifting his thoughts so completely to the Silas homicide case he had been working at, that by the time he he’d arrived at the station, he had completely forgotten his trepidation over the broken handcuffs.

Detective Paul, his usual frown tugging at his mouth, greeted John almost as soon as he set foot in the office. “Captain Maldonado wants to see you,” he said gruffly, looking John over with narrowed eyes.

John nodded and made his way to Sandra’s office, quickly scanning the open floor of desks as he went, searching out Dorian, but with no luck. He shrugged his shoulders, somehow knowing he was in the building _somewhere_ , and entered Maldonado’s office.

She looked up from her computer when she saw him come in. “Morning, John.”

John settled into parade rest as he stood before her desk. “Morning.”

“I trust you enjoyed your day off?” Sandra asked, distractedly glancing back down to her computer.

A sharp, strangled noise choked out of John’s mouth and he quickly cleared his throat. If Maldonado ever found out what he and Dorian had been doing all day yesterday, he knew she’d throw him off the force without question, even though she had been the one to sign the papers authorizing Dorian to be housed with him. And although it was not uncommon for bonded pairs to sometimes work together, and was in fact illegal to discriminate against them from doing so, he suddenly realized that using Dorian to break his heat was a gross misuse of company property, even if Dorian had, for some reason, been created with both Alpha and Omega features, even if John had felt like he had had no other choice in the thick of his heat but to accept Dorian’s knot.

Sandra looked up at him, eyebrow arched in question.

“Yes, it was very…restful,” he answered hoarsely, hooking a finger in his shirt collar, loosening the suddenly restrictive fabric.

Maldonado nodded bemusedly and looked back to her computer. “How are you coming along on the Silas case?”

John collected himself for a moment before answering. “We’re making a little headway,” he said, though he in fact felt like he had made hardly any at all. The victim, Dr. Roland Silas, aged fifty-six, had been a moderately successful psychiatrist-- a self made man who had worked hard to build up his practice on a quiet side of town, and had prided himself on the high level of confidentiality he had with his patients, such a high level that he had refused to have any security cameras in any part of his office. His cause of death, a single, small-caliber gunshot wound to his right temple, was at first passed off as a suicide, but that had not sat well with John. He had pegged it as a murder since the beginning- his unfailing intuition wouldn’t let him believe it was anything else.

Dr. Silas had been found in the early morning four days ago, slumped in his chair behind his desk, by his assistant when she had come in to ready his office for the day. There was no forced entry, nothing missing from the building, and the gun in Silas’ hand had no fingerprints on it other than his own. But it had seemed to John that the bullet’s trajectory was slightly off, that, and the fact that there was no note left behind, had left him feeling skeptical. Others in the precinct had attributed Silas’ uncharacteristically and seemingly sudden depression and subsequent suicide to the fact that he was an unbonded Omega and had never taken a mate. John hadn’t believed it for a fucking second. How could he?

The only one that had stood behind John’s belief that they were dealing with a homicide was Maldonado, though he wasn’t entirely sure she really believed it herself. She had always trusted John, had only ever believed in his abilities, and had never _once_ held his Omega dynamic against him, one of the first Alphas he had known not to do so. She was unique in that way, because there were those in the precinct that were just waiting for John to trip up somehow, to prove that an Omega’s place was not on the police force.

And he had sworn to himself, every day since being accepted into the police academy at the age of nineteen, that he’d never give those fuckers the satisfaction. He had worked his ass off on every case he was assigned to, and this one was no different.

“I tasked Dorian with reviewing the security footage from cameras in the alley behind the office as well as on the street side in front of it. And my warrant to search Silas’ hard drive should be granted later today.”

Maldonado nodded. “Keep at it. I’m sure we’ll find something soon.”

John took that as his dismissal and he turned to go.

“And John?”

He stilled with his hand on the door handle, glancing back over his shoulder. He saw her nostrils flare fractionally, scenting the air.

“I don’t know what you’re doing differently, but it looks good on you.”

John nodded, slightly perplexed, before exiting the office.

It took a bit of searching after he left Maldonado’s office, but John was finally able to locate Dorian in one of the rarely used basement conference rooms. He was standing with his hip cocked against the edge of the black Formica conference table that took up a majority of the room, looking intently down at the data tablet in his hand, blue lines tracing up and down his face. And if John was worried about how much a pair of broken fucking handcuffs aroused him, just the sight of Dorian standing there, his broad shoulders fitted tightly under his jacket, his thighs bunching under the fabric of his jeans as he crossed his legs slightly, very nearly stopped John’s heart dead in his chest. That cool, prickling sensation shivered up the side of his neck and his cock was immediately hard, straining against the inside of his cargos almost painfully.

Dorian looked up from his tablet when John entered the room, straightening away from the table, a grin curving his lips. “Hope I wasn’t too hard to find. It’s easier to concentrate down here, since it’s so quiet,” he explained.

But John hadn’t heard anything Dorian had just said, couldn’t really hear much of anything with the deafening rush of his heart beating so loudly, drowning out all other sound. He slammed the door shut behind him, stepping long strides to Dorian, framing his face with his hands when he reached him, smashing their lips together roughly. Dorian made a startled noise, dropping his hands to his sides, the tablet he’d been holding clattering to the floor, forgotten.

And then Dorian’s hands came up, wrapping tightly around his back, fingers digging relentlessly into John’s jacket. A sudden rush of moisture slicked John’s entrance and he moaned. It was not a copious amount as when he was in heat, just enough to prepare himself for that delicious and inevitable breach of Dorian’s cock.

He opened Dorian’s mouth with the insistent thrust of his tongue and swallowed up Dorian’s groan as it tried to escape past his lips, his mind utterly blank beyond the suddenly overwhelming need to be as close to Dorian as physically possible. He rolled his hips forward, pressing his erection against Dorian’s thigh, and felt his breath hitch in his chest when Dorian’s hardened cock pressed back just as firmly, all while claiming Dorian’s mouth in a ceaseless assault.

And it wasn’t enough, not nearly fucking _enough_.

He pulled back from Dorian with a low growl and reached down to undo the button and fly at Dorian’s jeans, tugging them down just enough so that his cock could spring free, while Dorian watched John with a hungry gleam in his eyes.

John then went to work on his own pants, trying to get his hands to stop trembling long enough to get the goddamn buttons undone. Dorian’s hands suddenly brushed his away and undid the cargos with a sure and steady flick of his wrist, pulling John’s pants down over the curve of his ass, and pivoting him around and bending him over the table behind him. He shoved a knee in between John’s legs, effectively spreading them apart.

John yelped in surprise and Dorian’s hand, firm between his shoulder blades, pushed him down onto the smooth, black tabletop. John grunted out a breath from the impact, seeing it momentarily fog the smooth surface beneath him. His dick, hard as fucking stone, was pinned between his stomach and the table; the cold shock of the table’s surface on his heated cock was a thrill in and of itself.

Desire soared through his veins when he felt Dorian’s cock press against his wet entrance and he cried out, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick tabletop when he thrust in deeply, buried to the hilt in John’s ass. Dorian grunted, bringing his hands to John’s hips, using the grip to leverage his thrusts.

John pushed back into Dorian’s drives forward, feeling his cock fill him in the most perfectly complete way, and he brought one of his hands back to where Dorian gripped his hip, tangling their fingers together tightly. He held on as Dorian plunged in deep, the slap of skin on skin ringing out harshly in the confines of the conference room, driving John closer and closer to exploding.

And then Dorian’s voice was in his ear, low and insistent, as he stretched over John’s back. “Come John. Come with me.”

And John shattered, coming apart into a million pieces, his spend soaking into the material of his shirt, roaring out with the force of his release. And just as he came, just as Dorian spilled into him warmly, John felt the cool flush on his neck turn into a scorching burn for a fraction of a second and he knew.

Yesterday, when Dorian had brought his hands up to John’s neck, swiping his fingers coated wetly in his scent onto John’s skin, Dorian had marked him, had bonded John to him, without even the fucking courtesy of asking.

John suddenly shoved up from the table, anger and hurt and mistrust welling up inside of him. He turned to face Dorian, yanking his pants up roughly, and zipping his jacket up over the wet stain on his shirt. He brought his finger up, shaking it at Dorian, who only stared back at him in shock. But the words would not come, those words of blame, and hate, and rage.

 He fisted his hands down at his sides and bolted from the room, not even knowing where he was going, knowing only that he needed to get away from Dorian and the scent that suddenly seemed to be surrounding him.

He did not stop, did not slow, even when he heard Dorian’s voice calling to him, shouting John’s name desperately. He made his way through the basement hallways blindly, chest heaving, angry tears welling at his eyes, not stopping until he found himself standing before the doors to Rudy’s laboratory.

And he realized it was exactly where he needed to be. Because if Rudy could not help him, he knew no one could. 


	4. Conflagration

John burst through the doors of Rudy’s lab so hard that it cracked one of the small glass panes set high up in the metal when it banged back against the wall. He stormed into the room and down the short metal staircase in a haze of fury and hurt, and slammed his hands down on the desk Rudy was sitting at. 

Rudy yelped and jumped in surprise, fumbling the micron board and soldering tool he was holding down onto his cluttered worktable, immediately ducking his head in submission. He looked up, wide-eyed and bewildered, suddenly realizing it was only John standing there.

“What the hell is this then?”

John leaned in close. “I need your help and I need it right fucking now,” he said gruffly, his voice barely an octave above a growl.

Rudy’s eyebrows bunched together and he pulled his face back from John’s. “Now wait just a minute. What’s this about?”

John straightened from the table, carding a trembling hand through his hair. His heart knocked heavily against his ribcage and he was suddenly regretting coming here to ask for Rudy’s help. Admitting to Rudy what had happened between him and Dorian, telling him what Dorian had done to him ( _bonded, marked)_ struck a freezing bolt of terror straight through him. But he knew Rudy was the only one that could fix this. He hoped to fucking hell that he could anyways. He was a genius with androids, and as the only other Omega on the force, John hoped Rudy would understand this monumental cluster-fuck he was in.

John blew out a pent up breath, dropping his hands to his sides in a surrender to his own inner struggle. “I cycled yesterday and Dorian worked me through it.”

Rudy blinked in surprise. “I don’t underst-”

John cut off his words sharply. “He bonded me to him, Rudy.”

Rudy sat stock still, his eyes dropping to his worktable before he looked back up to John. “But how?”

John stumbled back to a stool across from Rudy and slumped down heavily, burying his face in his hands, cursing himself violently for letting it get so far, cursing Dorian for marking him without his consent. John could have gone through his whole life happily, never having to bond to an Alpha-- fucking preferred it that way, in fact.

He let his hands fall into his lap and looked up at Rudy. “I forgot my fucking suppressants and Dorian was there.” His words stalled out for a moment, remembering Dorian’s firm yet gentle handling, the thick and heavy feel of his cock filling him.

John shook his head roughly. “He said he was created with Alpha and Omega features. And now, that he marked me…” He stopped, cleared this throat. “I can’t get his scent off of me, Rudy. I can’t get away from it and it’s gonna make me crazy.”

He stood from the stool on shaky legs, pleading with him. “You have to turn off the pheromones somehow. Get inside Dorian and shut it down.” Because maybe if Rudy could do that, if John couldn’t smell that one particularly unique scent anymore, the bond could be broken and John could pretend that none of this had ever happened. It might work, especially if it was done in the first 24 hours that the mark was placed.

“But the DRN’s were never created with those kind of capabilities, John. Dorian must have been a special model or something. I wouldn’t know the first thing about ‘turning that off’” He brought his hands up to motion air quotes.

John fisted his hands at his sides, panic and desperation crashing over him. “Can’t you just-”

A loud smash erupted behind them and suddenly Dorian was there, rushing down the metal staircase.

John turned to face Dorian as he strode over to where he and Rudy were standing. That wide, cool stripe flushed up John’s neck and he could see out of the corner of his eye Rudy’s nostrils flaring as he scented Dorian’s Alpha pheromones.

John crossed his arms over his chest. “Hey, Dorian! You’re right on time!” he sneered, his tone mockingly bright.

“John, talk to me. What is going on?” Concern was etched into his face, blue lines tracing rapidly up and down, and he reached a hand out toward John.

John flinched back from the touch, his lips drawing back from his teeth in a snarl. “What’s going on? I’ll tell you what the fuck is going on! You marked me, Dorian. That was never something I wanted! And you would have known that if you would have just fucking asked!” He shouted the words at him, fists balled tightly at his sides.

“I- I didn’t know,” Dorian sputtered.

“You didn’t know? What the fuck did you _think_ you were doing?” John asked, infuriated, whatever control he’d had to begin with slipping away from him rapidly.

“I was only doing it because it felt right, John. There’s nothing about marking in my constructs. I was acting on instinct alone.” His voice was unnervingly calm, but with a tremor of uncertainty running just under the surface. 

John barked out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“And you didn’t even say anything when I did it, John,” Dorian continued. “I thought it was what you needed.”

Anger was thrumming through his veins and he brought a finger up, jabbing Dorian in the chest hard enough to knock him back a step. “I was practically unconscious from exhaustion, asshole. And besides that, being bonded was never what I wanted, so you can be sure as _shit_ that it was not what I needed.”

Dorian’s brows drew together as if he was in pain, and he brought his hands up, opening his mouth to speak.

John quieted him with a withering glare. “You know what? It doesn’t even matter. Rudy’s gonna work his magic, and we’re gonna put this all behind us,” he said, turning back to Rudy, seeing the look of shock on the other Omega’s face, his mouth hanging open almost comically.

John suddenly felt Dorian’s hand on his shoulder, trying to turn him back, his touch burning a heated trail of arousal straight down to his cock then traveling back up to scorch the mark on his neck instantaneously.

“John, can we just-,” Dorian was saying behind him, but John didn’t let him finish.

He whirled around on him, bringing his fist up, laying a hard, ringing punch across Dorian’s cheek. He felt the force of it jolt painfully up his arm, but Dorian hardly flinched. John had made a mark of his own though; a gash just under Dorian’s eye, oozing a purple liquid, thick like blood. Electric blue traced up his temple in fragmented lines. John thought it would make him feel better, but it didn’t.

“Why, John? Can you at least just tell me why you _despise_ my mark so much?” Sadness flashed in Dorian’s eyes and he brought a hand up to touch at the laceration on his cheek. 

Rage shook John’s body, his control slipping farther and farther from his grasp. “Because it is against precinct regulations,” he said flatly, knowing it was only partly true.

Dorian’s blue-gray eyes traveled over John’s face, gauging the emotions he saw there. “But that’s not really the reason, John. I can see that! JUST. TELL. ME. WHY!” he cried furiously.

John’s heart was pounding painfully in his chest, his breath heaving out of his lungs labouredly, and he snapped, lost every last ounce of his control. And all of the hurt and fear and grief he had been harboring inside of himself since he was twelve years old came out in a great, heartbreaking rush.

“You wanna know why, Dorian?” he roared. “I’ll tell you why. Because when my mother died, when my father’s _bonded_ mate was ripped away from him, it nearly fucking killed him. And he was _never_ the same after that! I would rather live this life _alone_ than go through that kind of hell, EVER!” Harsh, unshed tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision, and he fought to drag in panting breaths.

The whole room went utterly silent after the echo of his shouts had faded. 

Dorian blinked once, twice, then stepped forward, tugging John into his arms. John tried pulling back with a weak cry, but Dorian only held him tighter.

And before John could settle into the embrace, before he could accept that unspoken apology, Dorian pulled back and brushed by him without a word. He walked over to a medical type chair in the middle of the room, nodding to Rudy as he sat down, locking his eyes with John’s. 

Rudy was still for a moment, standing at his worktable, before he jolted out of his stupor, grabbing up a small screwdriver, and stepping over to Dorian. He stood beside the chair and glanced over to John before looking back at Dorian. “Are you sure you want this?” Rudy seemed to be asking the question to both of them.

John swallowed against a dry throat when Dorian answered, “If it saves John from more pain, then yes. Protecting him has only ever been the reason for my existence, even if I am protecting him from myself.”

Rudy nodded uneasily, bringing up the screwdriver to a plate on the side of Dorian’s head. He glanced up to John when he had looked at the exposed wiring for a moment. “I will need to manufacture a microchip block that will stop the Alpha pheromone from being transmitted.”

John glanced up to a clock mounted on the wall. “How long do you think it will take?” he asked, calculating the hours in his head.

It was widely known that if a bond was broken within the first 24 hours the pair could go their separate ways without any lasting emotional injury; anything longer than that and the bond could not be broken without incurring irreparable damage. The only way a mark could be erased though, was from the immediate remarking of another Alpha, or the death of one partner.

 If Rudy could work his magic in the next four hours, John could be free of ever having to feel the unimaginable loss that would come with losing his mate, from losing Dorian in some way, and unburden himself from leaving Dorian to feel the same thing if anything should ever happen to him. Which, in a job like his, where everyday out on the field was like taking a fucking risk, the chances of that happening were high.

Dorian sat still, his eyes never leaving John’s, as Rudy looked back to the exposed wiring. “I’d say…three hours, at the most,” Rudy said after a moment. 

He closed the small panel with a quiet click and Dorian swung his legs over the side of the chair. John watched him closely as Dorian swiped the purple fluid from his gash at his cheek with the back of his hand.

 He was making the right choice here, right? A sudden swell of trepidation washed over him as Rudy stepped back to his worktable and began pulling a variety of tools from a small tote. He shook his head brusquely. Of course it was the right choice. It was his _only_ fucking choice.

Dorian stood suddenly from the chair, electric blue lines tracing a furious pattern over the side of his face. “John, Maldonado just contacted me.”

John’s stomach lurched uneasily at his urgency. “What is it?”

Dorian looked away for a moment, seemingly receiving the transmission, judging by the blue lines that continued their pattern up his temple. He looked back up at John, concern plain on his face. “There was another murder, with the same characteristics as the Silas homicide. Maldonado needs us to report to the crime scene immediately. I’ll obtain the GPS coordinates.”

He walked quickly toward the steps leading to the doors out of the lab and stopped momentarily in front of John. He brought his hand up as if to settle it on John’s shoulder, and John felt his heart rate ratchet up, in anticipation or anxiousness he did not know.

But then Dorian reconsidered, and let his hand fall to his side. He turned from John and sprinted up the metal staircase without another word.

John had to work to get his brain back into cop mode. He rubbed a hand roughly down his cheek and turned to walk up the stairs.

“John?” Rudy asked in a small voice from his worktable.

John stilled with his hand on the iron railing, looking back over his shoulder.

Rudy shifted uneasily on his stool. “When you and Dorian…” he took a deep, shuddering breath. “John, you used protection, right?”

And for the first time since his father had told him that his mother had died, John felt the world tilt on its axis, felt the ground crumble out from underneath him. He grasped the railing tightly in a white-knuckle grip, trying to keep himself upright.

 And before he could even speak, Dorian burst back through the lab doors. “John, Maldonado needs us _now_.”

He nodded numbly, not even glancing back to Rudy, and followed Dorian out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to extend a note of thanks to all of you who have read, bookmarked, and left kudos and comments. You guys really keep me going ^_^ I'm so happy to hear you're all enjoying the story so much! And thanks for being so patient with me! I know these chapters sometimes take a long time for me to write out, but I hope it's worth the wait! As always, you can contact me on tumblr if you ever wanna talk or drop me a prompt http://lopsided-whiskey-grin.tumblr.com/


	5. Incendiary

“John.”

_Rudy said ‘protection’, right? What the hell was that supposed to mean, anyways? Dorian’s only an android for fuck’s sake. Why the fuck should there even be a need for protection?_

“John?”

_He must have been fucking with me, right? But what if he wasn’t? What then? What if I-_

“Detective Kennex!”

John whipped his head up, pulled instantly from his frenzied thoughts. He looked at his surroundings, momentarily disoriented, and found he was standing in the immaculately clean living room of an upscale high-rise apartment. The room was appointed with an impersonal, modern feel, complete with high ceilings, crisp lines, and a monotone color palate. He looked down to his hand, seeing that he was holding a small holo-sculpture of a charging bull.

Detective Stahl was looking at him expectantly, a small worry-line creased between her delicate brows, and John realized that he must have been staring at the sculpture rather intently, while those nearly consuming questions in his mind drove him to distraction.

He blinked and centered his gaze on Valerie, forcing his focus back to the task at hand.

“Run that by me again?” he asked.

“I asked you what your thoughts were here?”

_My thoughts here are that I’m fucked, and in more ways than one._

John rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, hardly remembering the drive over here, much less a run down on the crime scene. “Why don’t you give me _your_ take on what we’ve got here, Valerie?” He forced a weak half smile and set the holo-sculpture down on a black end table.

Detective Stahl studied him for a moment before looking down to the data tablet in her hand. “The deceased is Jenny Talbot, aged thirty-five. A manager and top earner at the Stock-brokering firm where she was employed.” She began walking through the apartment as she talked and John followed her back down a long hallway, bare but for a few generic framed landscape photographs, stopping when they reached a bedroom. “She was found an hour ago by the cleaning service that comes through here once a week.”

John looked to the bed set near a wall of plate glass windows. The victim was laid back on the bed, her short blonde hair fanned around her head on the bedspread. She was dressed in an executive suit, with a pistol gripped tightly in her right hand, and a small-caliber gunshot wound marring her right temple.

John stepped to the bed while pulling on a pair of black Nitrile gloves. “Was anyone seen leaving or entering the apartment? Any eyewitnesses?” He glanced back at Valerie before coming to the edge of the mattress.

She shook her head. “No witnesses. I had my MX review the security footage from the cameras in the hallway, but there was a glitch marked at 9:48am and another at 9:59am. Whoever did this got in and got out in just over ten minutes,” she paused, looking over at the victim on the bed, her deep brown eyes unsettled. “This looks too much like the Silas homicide to be a coincidence, John.”

He nodded in agreement, picking up the gun from the vic’s hand gingerly, studying it. “Run a background check and see if Ms. Talbot has ever had a P22 Walther registered to her.”

Dorian suddenly appeared from a master bathroom connected to the bedroom and John immediately felt that cool tingle flush up the side of his neck. A quiet, distant part of his mind wondered if he would always feel it so strongly, or it would fade into a comfortable constant like the way a ring felt on your finger if you wore it everyday. But the thought was gone as quickly as it had come and before John had anytime to realize it had crossed his mind.

“ I’ve reviewed her records, and no, she has never had any type of firearm registered to her. Same as with Dr. Silas,” Dorian said, electric blue tracing an intricate pattern over the side of his face as he stepped into the room. The lines coursed up and down his cheek, stopping just short of the gash that John had put there. A small butterfly bandage had been placed to hold the skin together.

A ripple of emotion flashed over Dorian’s face when he glanced over to John, but then let it fall into a near emotionless mask when he looked at Valerie. John’s eyes fell down to the gun in his hand, not really focusing on it, only trying to sort through the flurry of expressions he had just seen. Sadness, guilt, regret; emotions he had felt himself countless times-- never emotions he would have thought _Dorian_ could feel in any real way. But John had already begun to question how far away from human Dorian really was; had really begun to question it yesterday when he had lain wrapped in his comfortingly calm embrace, breathless and slicked with the sweat of a heat John never could have fucking survived on his own. It didn’t seem, synthetic soul or not, that Dorian was really all that far from human, and appeared to be growing closer everyday.

So where did that put John? In light of all that Rudy had told him? John licked his lips and set the gun back on the bed gently for the evidence team to document. The bond Dorian had marked him with was something he had always told himself he never wanted, not after he had seen what that broken bond looked like on the face of his father almost every day after his mother had died. And who would ever want him as a mate, anyways? A headstrong, independent Omega didn’t exactly appeal to many Alphas; a trait John was never sorry for. And what about Dorian? If he was capable of putting a mark on John, what would it mean to _him_ if that bond was broken, even if it was done under the 24 hour mark? He had seemed agreeable enough when he had told Rudy to do it in order to bar John from any more pain, but how would it affect him, that kind of rejection? And if Dorian was capable of feeling that kind of hurt that John feared he most certainly could, and if he was capable of marking John, even if he hadn’t known what he was doing in that moment, who’s to say that Rudy wasn’t wrong in asking if he had used protection?

A warm blush crept up John’s neck, leaving him lightheaded, and he swayed on his feet for a moment. The unanswered questions chased around in his mind, drawing him no closer to any solutions, only making him more frustrated and lost.

He took a deep, centering breath and turned from the bed to see Dorian and Valerie looking down at the data tablet in her hand. “Are there any other similarities between this case and the other one? Besides the obvious?” John asked when he had regained a bit of his composure.

Dorian glanced up and ticked off the parallels on his fingers, “No forced entry, same type of weapon, staged to look like a suicide, no note,” he paused, looking away as blue lines traced up his temple once. He looked back up to John, eyes wide “She was an unbonded Omega, John.”

John’s stomach lurched uneasily. “Someone’s targeting them.” Two unbonded Omegas, both self-made, independent, excelling in careers some might not see ‘appropriate’ for their dynamic.

_Like you_ , a snide whisper sneered from somewhere in his brain.

Dread thundered through him and he forced the tremor from his hands and peeled his gloves off. “Dorian, we need to get back to the station to review the footage from outside of Silas’ office. We need to nail this bastard and we need to nail him now.”

Dorian nodded, already leaving the room.

John turned to Valerie. She looked up at him, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Sweep the room one more time, then see if you can find any eye witnesses, on the next floor down, in the lobby, _anywhere_.”

“I’m on it,” she said firmly, turning to her MX.

/////////////////////////////////////////

John met Dorian down on the street beside the police cruiser and after a flash of electric blue down the DRN’s face, the doors were both unlocked.

John settled into the drivers seat, turning over the ignition after Dorian had moved into the passenger seat and pulled quickly into the rush of afternoon traffic surrounding the apartment high-rise.

“Listen, Dorian-” John began, not even really sure what he was going to say.

Dorian cut in. “I’ve already contacted Maldonado. She has two MX’s extensively reviewing the security footage from the cameras surrounding Sila’s office. She says the warrant you requested to search the doctor’s hard-drive should be granted within the hour.”

John nodded numbly, bringing his hand down to the gearshift, pushing the car into fourth as he passed between cars on their way back to the precinct. He warred with himself, acutely unsure if he should tell Dorian about Rudy’s remark, because if bonding wasn’t in his constructs, was it possible that the idea of ‘protection’ wasn’t either? John was still having a hard enough time trying to wrap his goddamn head around all of it without saying the words out loud. It was laughable really; an android that could impregnate a human? Not fucking possible. John put all of his belief into that notion, repeating it in his mind like a silent mantra: _I’m not pregnant, not pregnant, not pregnant_.

He opened his mouth to speak, then quickly closed it again, deciding it was best to be sure either way before he told Dorian anything, knowing deep down that he was only putting it off for his own selfish self-preservation.

“Look, John,” Dorian said quietly, pulling John from his thoughts, “We only have a little bit of time before Rudy installs that block. Can we just not argue until then? Just enjoy this?”

He nodded, slightly stunned, thinking he must have thought John had only been opening his mouth in order to berate him. John glanced over to Dorian, then down to his hand on the gearshift when he felt it being covered by Dorian’s. His hand was warm and smooth and felt so fucking perfect wrapped over his own that he let himself settle back into the driver’s seat, let those feelings of wholeness and entirety and completion wash over him in a settling wave. He couldn’t help the small smile that slipped across his lips as they continued their drive.

Dorian didn’t let go of his hand until he had to downshift as he pulled up in front of the station, and John suddenly wondered why he ever thought he would want for his mark to be erased. And then he remembered his father and that heartbreak, and he pulled the keys from the ignition a little harder than he intended to.

John’s phone chimed a text alert before he and Dorian even reached the doors to the precinct.

[text] From Rudy: I’ve fabricated the block.

He showed the message to Dorian, who gave it a cursory glance and walked long, purposeful strides to the nearest elevator and made his way to the nearest elevator. John had to work to keep pace, and suddenly stilled as they stood side by side before the elevator doors when he saw that Dorian had pushed the down button.

“Dorian, I think our case takes precedence over _this_ ,” he said, motioning with the mobile in his hand.

Dorian glanced over at him, a touch of sadness flashing in his eyes before he doused it with indifference. He looked forward when the elevator doors opened with a soft ping. “It’s best we take care of it as soon as possible, John.”

He stepped into the empty elevator car and John followed. And of course John knew they had to ‘take care of it as soon as possible’. It had been his fucking idea in the first place-- erasing the mark was a priority here. So why was the subconscious part of his brain suddenly trying to put it off? Maybe he was afraid that it would hurt; possibly not in any physical way, because at this point in his life, physical pain was nearly an everyday occurrence, especially with his leg. But maybe he was afraid on some level that it would hurt him in an emotional way. He had endured so much of _that_ that he wasn’t sure if he was capable of withstanding any more.

He fetched a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair as the elevator started its descent to the basement. Christ, all of this was gonna make him go crazy.

“John?” Dorian broached softly.

John glanced to Dorian standing beside him.

“I’ll do this for you, if only because it was never my place to mark you at all. You know I’d do anything for you. But, can I just,” he paused, dropping his gaze to the floor for a moment before continuing in a quiet voice, “Can you just give me one thing?”

“Sure.” John’s heart rate kicked up and his voice sounded far away even to his own ears.

Just as Dorian would do anything for him, he knew he’d do anything for his partner, if they were bonded or not.

Dorian reached a hand out, blue lines tracing a slow path up his face, and gently grasped the front of John’s jacket, tugging him over to the corner of the elevator with him. The initial contact of Dorian’s lips, so soft and pliant against his own, washed the cool tingle on his neck into a pleasantly warm stroke that seemed to travel languidly through his whole body. He settled against Dorian’s body, his mouth drinking in the taste of him deeply, feeling Dorian’s hands travel up his shoulders and tangle in his hair. He couldn’t help the whimper that fell from his mouth when he felt Dorian’s tongue slip between his teeth and bottom lip. But even then, there was a sadness there, permeating the kiss. John felt it reach right down into his fucking heart, trying to pull feelings from him that he had shut down a long time ago.

And before the press of their mouths could morph into anything deeper and more heated, the elevator pinged its destination and the doors rolled open.

Dorian pulled back from him slowly, his stormy blue eyes ghosting over his face, his expression a startling combination of gratitude and sorrow. They walked the empty basement hallway in an uneasy silence and when they reached Rudy’s lab, with its inexplicably high ceilings and stained glass windows, they found that Rudy had arranged a stretcher type bed in the middle of the room, flanked by a small table displaying a variety of delicate tools.

Rudy appeared from around a corner, pushing his glasses up on his forehead. He smiled warmly and motioned Dorian to the bed. “Let’s get down to business.”

Dorian complied, laying down on his back. Rudy sat on a rolling stool, and moved to the table, screwdriver in hand. He opened a plate on the side of Dorian’s head with a practiced ease, then glanced up, speaking to John and Dorian both.

“I’m going to have to put this in while you’re completely offline, Dorian.”

Dorian nodded and then was suddenly still, his blue-gray irises instantly swallowed up by black.

John stepped toward the table as Rudy got to work.

Rudy glanced up at John as he approached. “Shouldn’t take too long to get this installed.”

“What did you mean earlier, when you said ‘protection’?” Anxiety pooled in a slippery coil in John’s gut when he realized he had asked the question out loud.

Rudy stilled for a moment, pulling his eyes up from Dorian to look at John.

“I just meant that, with Dorian’s ability to emit pheromones and mark someone,” he looked back down, “it’s possible that he’d be able to produce viable sperm. For what purpose, I don’t know. But better to take precautions. Better safe than sorry, you know?” He laughed out a little chuckle.

Nausea rolled over John in a wave and he had to brace his hand against a metal shelf beside him.

Rudy was oblivious, his focus centered on the wires and microchips before him, and he went on chattering. “I guess he was created for some special reason, but like most of out backup DRN’s, his memory was wiped when they decommissioned them back when they found the glitches with the Synthetic Soul. If we could find out who created him and why, we’d probably find the answers to all our questions,” he said lightly.

John worked to control his breathing, weakly grasping onto his mantra, even as it seemed it was slipping farther and farther away from any actuality: _not pregnant, not pregnant_.

“There we go,” Rudy said with an air of finality.

And with those words, John felt his mark dissolve in a dizzying rush. He stumbled a bit, knocking a few mechanical parts from the shelf beside him.

Rudy looked up, a smug smile on his face. “Just got to put him back togeth-” His grin faded away when he saw John.

“Are you okay?”

John didn’t even answer him, scrambling from the suddenly too-confining room in a panicked stumble. He somehow made it out to his car, and was soon pulling into traffic almost blindly, only needing to get away, only needing to find a place where he could just fucking _breathe_. He somehow found a park, deserted and shadowed from the late afternoon sunlight by a copse of tall oak trees.

He threw the car into park and wrenched the door open before running to the nearest trashcan, spilling the contents of his stomach violently. And after his stomach had finally stopped heaving, he straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his trembling hand.

He looked around, trying to get his bearings, when his instincts suddenly picked up an unease surrounding him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he immediately reached for his holstered pistol under his jacket-- a fraction of a second too late.

“Hello, John,” a deep, gravel-rough voice spoke behind him.

And before he could even start to turn around a strong arm wrapped tightly around his middle and a sharp needle slipped into the side of his neck.

The world immediately blurred into an enveloping darkness that John could not hope to fight against, even though he tried.

 


	6. Combustible

> Official Police Document: Text messages retrieved from Detective John Kennex’s cell phone, found using GPS locaters by officers and DRN unit near abandoned police cruiser 235 in Bancroft Park:
> 
>  
> 
> [text] From Rudy: You looked a little peaked when you left. Are you ok?
> 
>  
> 
> [text] From Maldonado: The warrant for Silas’s hard-drive was granted. I don’t need to tell you that this is priority now.
> 
>  
> 
> [text] From Dorian: John? Cpt. Maldonado said that you have not contacted her back. Where are you?
> 
>  
> 
> [text] From Dorian: I understand that you may be needing time away from me at the moment, but these homicides need out attention. Please call me back.
> 
>  
> 
> [text] From Dorian: There is something about this that is making me uneasy, John. Especially in light of what Det. Stahl found. If you can see this, please stay where you are. I’m coming to find you.

 

///////////////////////////////////////////

An abandoned warehouse, dusty with disuse, cluttered, broken machinery hulking into shadowed corners, a cracked window pane set high up on one wall; small snippets of John’s surroundings, gleaned but nearly incomprehensible in between pulls of unconsciousness. How long had he been there? Six hours? Two days? He couldn’t really say. Time was fuzzy, fractured. There wasn’t much he remembered during the short spans of time he was actually awake, besides a strong arm wrenching him to his feet and pulling him to a solitary, filthy bathroom to do his business, the constant ache of his shoulders from his arms being cuffed behind his back, and the bite of a needle being slipped into his neck—always that.

He began to welcome the needle and its promise of darkness, the escape it offered from the beatings that nameless, faceless arm gifted his face almost regularly. The needle took him away, folded him into dreams where the pain was only a dulled and distant throb.

And oh, what dreams.

He was back in his bed, tangled in the sheets with Dorian, moonlight spilling in through the windows, illuminating the room in a muted, silvery glow. The dreams were so clear, so fucking _lucid_ , that he could smell Dorian’s pheromones, musky and thick, could taste the salty zing of his own sweat on the pad of Dorian’s thumb after he drug it over the sensitive skin on his neck and slipped it between his lips, could feel the solid press of Dorian’s body on top of his own.

It all seemed so fucking _real_ that John felt it was hard to believe that it actually wasn’t. He wanted nothing more than to lie in that soft bed, to be coaxed up onto his knees, to feel Dorian’s firm hand pressed to his back, gently guiding his face down to the mattress, lifting his ass to the perfect alignment of Dorian’s cock. And he’d cry out in ecstasy, hands fisting into the bedding as Dorian drove in deep, pounding into him over and over and over again.

If it was a dream, if it was reality, if it was the seventh circle of Hell, he didn’t care, as long as he could feel all of that, feel every last fucking bit of it, for an eternity.

But an eternity could never last as long as John wanted.

A hard, stinging slap across his cheek drug him out from unconsciousness with a sudden, painful jolt. His eyes flew open and he gasped, sitting up as much able, with his wrists handcuffed behind his back and attached to the metal chair he was bound to. His shoulders screamed in agony at the strain they were under and John had to work hard to bite back the whimper that threatened to spill from his lips.

A tall, burly man stood before him, his thick hands fisted at his sides, a menacing grin pulling at his lips. His hair, a thick tumble of black, curled loosely about his head. His eyes, dark and malicious, studied John closely. He was dressed simply enough in black pants, and a cotton tee shirt stretched across his wide, barrel chest. The shirt was nearly pristine white, but for a fine spray of startling red across the middle.

John suddenly remembered that he was the cause of that stain, acquired by a brutal backhand. It had not been the first hit, nor was it the second, judging by the tight, bruised feel of his face and the fact that his left eye was nearly swollen shut. He looked up at the man as he approached closer to John, his surroundings beginning to focus around him slowly. He realized then, as he gained more clarity than it felt like he’d had since all this happened, that it had probably been a while since the bastard standing before him had given him the needle. And as whatever drug he had been injected with began to loosen its hold, John felt how much it really had numbed the pain. It came screaming back, aching across his cheeks, his jaw, his swollen bottom lip, and cramping low in his gut.

That gave him pause though—out of all the hits his captor had doled out, those that he remembered and even those he thought he had imagined, the bastard had only ever concentrated on his face.

John darted his tongue out to lick at his tender lips, wincing when his swollen bottom lip split. He viciously fought the urge to vomit when the taste of hot copper filled his mouth and he felt a trickle of blood track a thin line down his chin.

The man stopped in front of John, a snarl curling at his upper lip, and John had to consciously fight against the panic that threatened to consume him. This man was going to kill him and John didn’t even know why—not that anybody these days seemed to need a reason. He had seen enough senseless acts of violence as a detective to know that. But for as many hopeless and desperate situations he had seen, he had seen those that were ultimately survivable. He could get out of this. And even if he couldn’t, he knew, with a strangely undeniable certainty, that Dorian was looking for him.

A slightly crooked smile stretched across John’s lips and he looked up to his captor as he slipped into the cocky, smart ass cop he had always been, remembering his training, focusing on that rather than the fear that kept twisting his stomach tight enough to make him nauseated. _Get the perp talking, get as much information as you can, stall for time_.

The man stilled and narrowed his eyes. “Findin’ something funny?” he asked in his deep, gritty voice.

“You tell me,” John shot back, furtively glancing past his captor, trying to see any possible exits. The back of the warehouse was doused in shadow and he couldn’t make out any doors.

“Oh, you’re gonna think there’s something really funny here in a minute,” he answered, bringing his hands up, cracking his knuckles loudly. “All you goddamn unbonded _Omegas_ think you’re always so fuckin’ clever. Traipsing around like you own the fuckin’ place—takin’ jobs from the Alphas that _really_ deserve ‘em.”

John’s stomach rolled sickly as understanding dawned on him. “It was _you_. You murdered Silas and Talbot.”

The man laughed darkly and he shrugged. “I just taught ‘em their place. And they weren’t the only ones either, just the only ones you caught wise about. All the others were passed off as suicides. And why wouldn’t they be? What kinda life could an Omega really have without an Alpha to keep ‘em in check? They’d be miserable. _Lost_.”

He set his hands on the metal arms of the chair John was sitting in and leaned in close enough for John to smell stale cigarette smoke on his breath. He choked back the bile rising in his throat.

“I coulda kept at it too,” the man continued, “Until you stuck your goddamn nose in where it didn’t belong. And now it’s your turn to learn your place, _John_.” He spat the words at him.

John wrenched his head back, ignoring the burning agony in his shoulders. “You had no fucking _right_ to hold those people’s lives in your hands, no matter what dynamic they were.”

The bastard only laughed.

Anger welled up from deep inside of John. “And if you decide you want to kill me,” he said, grasping for straws, desperate, “you’ll have the blood of a _bonded_ Omega on your hands. How will that figure in with your master plan, asshole?”

There was a cruelly amused glint in the man’s dark eyes as he studied John’s face. He brought his head in close, dipping down to run his nose along John’s neck. John could feel the blast of hot air from the man’s nostrils as he scented his skin and he shivered in revulsion.

His captor drew back, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest. “I beg to differ,” he said in a low voice.

John’s heart plummeted and he remembered. How the hell could he have forgotten? He had _demanded_ that Rudy erase his mark. Earlier today? Five days ago? He couldn’t really remember anymore. And not that it even mattered. This psycho Alpha was going to kill him either way, bonded or unbonded.

_Dorian..._

John’s heart ached and he pressed his mouth into a thin line to stop his bottom lip from trembling. His only regret, in a life that should have been full of them, was that he’d never get to see Dorian again. But if the only thing he had ever gotten right was the time he had spent enclosed in Dorian’s embrace, then he’d cherish it for as long as he was able, which, judging by the hateful anticipation flashing in his captor’s eyes, wasn’t going to be very fucking long at all.

John was prepared for it, had been ready, in all actuality, since the day he had woken from his coma, less one partner, one leg, and one sense of dignity. But ready and willing as he might have been, John was never one to just lie down and fucking take it.

Stubborn and obstinate as ever, he wrenched his head back and smashed it against the man’s face before him. His vision immediately blurred, but he blinked it back into focus, only wanting to see the damage he had done to his captor, even it was the last thing he’d ever see in this life. _Beggars can’t be choosers_ he thought to himself, as a near hysterical chuckle rumbled out from his chest, splitting his swollen lip even more.

The man stumbled back, his hands flying up to his face. Blood began to gush from in between his fingers as they covered his nose. An infuriated roar ripped from the man’s throat after the initial shock and he moved one of his hands behind his back, bringing it back forward in a blurring motion, a pistol suddenly clutched in his tight grip.

He brought the butt of the gun toward John’s head before John could even think about ducking, or bracing for impact, or anything. It connected with his temple with brutal force, nearly knocking him unconscious. A warm wet immediately slicked down his cheek and he groaned.

The man readjusted the pistol in his grip and just as he was about to level it at John’s forehead, a loud mechanical chirp sounded in a repeated, irritating pattern. The man stilled, bringing his free hand down to a pocket, pulling a cell phone out. He glared at John, blood continuing to trickle from his shattered nose down over his mouth and chin, as he answered the call.

“Braswell,” he said shortly.

John watched, his head swaying slightly, as the man listened to the phone pressed against his ear. The pain in his body seemed to fade away, concentrating its efforts solely on his insistently aching head, until a throbbing cramp twisted low in his belly. He doubled forward, as far as his handcuffed wrists would allow, and groaned. What the fuck was happening here? He blinked back the blackness ebbing at the corners of his vision and tried straightening in the chair.

“What? No. I’ve got him here right fuckin’ now!” his captor, Braswell, growled into the phone, shaking his gun at John. He sighed resignedly. “Understood.”

He shoved the mobile back in his pocket, an evil, bloodstained smile distorting his face, and he stepped forward. “Guess it’s your lucky fucking day, _Omega_ ,” he sneered. “She says I gotta keep you alive. Until she gets here at least.”

John blinked numbly, Braswell’s words getting jumbled up in his brain. She? Who’s she?

“Doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun before that though.” He sauntered toward the chair, undoing his pants and fly with one hand, the other still grasping the gun trained on John.

John tried shaking his head, tried struggling against the handcuffs digging into his wrists, but before Braswell even made one more step, two wide holes were blown into the far-end wall of the warehouse with a deafening blast. Glaring sunlight flowed into the darkened building, nearly blinding John. Gunfire erupted and Braswell immediately slumped to the ground.

John held onto consciousness as long as he could, but found it to be a very tedious fucking task. His eyes started to slip closed.

But suddenly Dorian was there, kneeling in front of him. John thought he might be dreaming again.

“John.” Electric blue lines traced a rapid pattern up Dorian’s face. “It’s okay. I’m here now.” He reached a hand up, cupping John’s face gently.

Relieved tears slipped down John’s cheeks, and he nodded. His head drooped down tiredly, consciousness slipping farther and farther away, and he sighed out Dorian’s name.

Dorian smiled gently and his thumb slipped in the blood caking down John’s cheek. He brought his hand back from John’s face, rubbing it between his forefinger and thumb, a curious and concerned look etched into his features.

John watched, as well as he was able with his vision blurring so badly, as blue lines traced an elaborate pattern up Dorian’s temple.

Dorian suddenly froze, his slate blue gaze locking onto John, his eyes wide. And just as John felt that insistent tug of unconsciousness begin to take him, he heard Dorian mutter one word:

_Pregnant._  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I published a new chapter in under a week! Aren't you guys proud of me? Thanks, as always, for all the comments and bookmarks and kudos! You guys are the best ^_^ I'm so glad you're enjoying the story so far!


	7. Tinder

Hospitals.

John fucking _hated_ hospitals. And who could really blame him, after he had spent 17 months in one? True, the staff at Memorial General had saved his life, putting him back together as best they could. But, now, being back in that same hospital only brought back the dark memories of the raid, the memories of all the pain from the hours and hours of physical therapy he had endured after being fitted with his prosthetic. It was all he could do not to rip the IV from his arm and jump up from the bed when he woke up and realized exactly where he was.

His heart rate jacked up and his skin broke out in a cold sweat as soon as his eyes opened. The monitors he was attached to went crazy, beeping shrilly as he tried to sit up in the bed. And the only thing, the only goddamn thing, that stopped him from bolting from the room, was the sudden and warm reassurance of Dorian’s hand on his shoulder.

His eyes flew to Dorian, standing beside the bed, looking down at John, his face a close study in worry. “Whoa there. Just lay still,” he said softly, his fingers tightening fractionally over John’s shoulder.

John winced at the touch, as gentle as it was, from the ache that was still there from having his arms cuffed behind his back, and Dorian drew his hand back immediately.

John lay back on the hospital bed, pulling in gasping breaths, glancing frantically around the room, his mind running in maddening, incoherent loops. Fragmented pictures of the raid, of the beatings he had received in the warehouse, threatened to overwhelm him.

 He centered his focus on Dorian, the only constant he seemed to have in his life at the moment, and felt heart rate slowly return to a more normal level. He settled back against the pillows behind him on the propped up hospital bed, just as a nurse bustled into the room in a flurry of dark blue scrubs and curling red hair. She made her way to the monitors as they started to quiet down.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Kennex?” she asked, glancing over at him and adjusting the drip on the IV bag hanging beside the bed.

John found he didn’t really know how to answer that question. How _was_ he feeling? Well, for starters, his whole body seemed to be an aching bundle of hurt. Not the extreme agony he had felt back at the warehouse. No, it was more subdued than that—it was more of a quiet sort of pain that seemed to be getting louder with each passing second.

But under that, there seemed to be a fucking _myriad_ of feelings vying for his attention: remnant tremors of fear from his captivity, a continuous nausea that turned his stomach in unpredictable waves, anger that burned through him from Bradwell’s unspeakable cruelty and his callous ability to murder those innocent Omegas in cold blood.

But above that, above _all_ those other things, was the roiling anxious trepidation that kept beating at him like the fluttering wings of a frightened bird—He was pregnant. Dorian had confirmed it when he had analyzed his blood. Even if time had been a fuzzy, intangible thing when he was in the warehouse, John remembered that much. He was pretty sure that moment would be burned into his brain forever.

“Mr. Kennex?”

John was instantly pulled back to the present. The nurse was beside the bed looking at him, awaiting his answer.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his words cracked over his dry throat. “I hurt,” was all he could croak out.

The nurse nodded sympathetically and turned to make adjustments on a small machine. Dorian poured John a cup of water from a pitcher on a bedside table, but kept his eyes trained on the nurse, watching her closely.

John reached for the small, plastic cup, thirstier than he’d ever felt in his entire fucking life, and Dorian set it in his hand. He helped John bring the water to his mouth. And for one fleeting moment, John was struck with the memory of Dorian doing the same exact thing in those early predawn hours when his heat had first hit. A wave of arousal crested over him gently and he blushed, pulling the cup back after he had taken a few generous sips.

The nurse, Amanda, as her hospital badge stated, turned back to the bed. “I’ve increased your pain medication. It should kick in here in just a bit.” She smiled gently. “The doctor will be in to speak with you in a few minutes.”

She made her exit from the room and suddenly it was just John and Dorian, surrounded by silence, but for the softly beeping machines that John was hooked up to. The medications did their work, chasing the pain from John’s body in a relieving slow push. He looked down at his wrists, at the red lacerations ringed around them from the handcuffs Braswell had used to bind him.

“How did you find me?” he asked Dorian, his voice still slightly rough.

Dorian seemed surprised at the question. Blue lines traced up and down his face for a moment before he answered. “When I reviewed the security footage from outside of Dr. Silas’ office I found that there was only one person standing on the sidewalk in front of the building around the time the coroner calculated to be Silas’ time of death. I ran facial recognition and identified the person as Trenton Braswell, a man with an extensive criminal background. Detective Stahl found, after reviewing Silas’ hard-drive, that Braswell was a patient of Dr. Silas’ as part of a round of court-mandated therapy sessions. It seemed that from the documented sessions, that Braswell had unintentionally slipped details about the murders he had committed. Silas was going to report the information to the police, but Braswell got to him before he ever spoke to anyone. Braswell then hacked into Silas’ case files and found information and demographics on other patient’s of Silas’ that are unbonded Omegas, including Jenny Talbot… and you.”

John stilled and looked up at Dorian. “I was never a patient there.”

“You’re right,” Dorian nodded, “But your case file had been transferred to Silas after the psych officer at the hospital examined you after you came out of your coma. And even though you ended up being seen by a doctor closer to your apartment, Silas’ office still had your information on file. I think Braswell had been tailing you since you opened the investigation on Silas’ death as a homicide.”

John stared down numbly at his hands in his lap, Braswell’s words echoing loudly in his brain: _Stuck your goddamn nose in where it didn’t belong_

Dorian paused for a moment, then continued. “I had a gut feeling that something was wrong when you didn’t answer your phone. And when we found it in the parking lot next to your cruiser…” Dorian’s words wavered. “John, you were missing for two days before I finally tracked down Braswell’s van in front of that warehouse and took that sonofabitch down. _Two days_.”

Dorian sat on the hospital bed facing John, and pulled John’s hands into his own. John looked up at him slowly. Dorian’s eyebrows were drawn together, and a single line of electric blue traced down his cheek like a tear.

“I thought I’d lost you, John. I thought I’d lost you forever.”

John swallowed against the hot lump in this throat, his heart thumping heavily against ribcage. He hadn’t thought he was going to make it out of that warehouse alive. He had tried to resign himself to the fact that he’d never see Dorian again, but the ache in his heart then, and the ache in his heart now, told him that he’d _never_ be okay with that. And how could he? Dorian had been there for him more times than any other human ever had been, had only ever genuinely cared about him, had saved his fucking _life._

But despite that, despite the utterly _complete_ feeling he got when Dorian’s hands wrapped so warmly around his, there was no denying the fact that he was carrying Dorian’s child. And that changed everything. John felt as if his whole life was being turned upside down. He had never imagined himself becoming a parent, just as he had never imagined that he’d be bonded to an Alpha. It was never something he wanted. But there was no easy fix for this situation, no microchip block that could just erase what had happened. It seemed as though the choice should be simple—he’d make a terrible father, he knew that much; he had a hard enough time taking care of himself on most days, for fuck’s sake. And he wasn’t exactly great with kids, Dorian had already told him as much. Terminating the pregnancy seemed like his only option, the only way to get his life back to the way it had been _before_ … so why was he still feeling such hesitancy about it all? John felt if he were a ship, let loose of his moorings, adrift and lost with no heading.

Dorian, seemingly sensing his confliction, ran his thumb in slow circles over the top of John’s hand. “We have a lot we need to talk about.”

“You’re goddamn right we do.” John tried to make the words sound gruff, but the tremor running underneath gave away the fear and uncertainty he felt. He let his gaze fall to their joined hands. “But I don’t want to do it here.”

Dorian nodded, understanding John’s need for the privacy of his home. He set John’s hands back in his lap gently and stood from the bed when the doctor walked into the room.

 

////////////////////////////////////////////

John was finally discharged later that afternoon with a paper bag containing a bottle of medium strength painkillers and a bottle of prenatal vitamins, and strict instructions from his doctor to keep his fluid intake up and to rest for at least a week before returning to work.

After a short drive, they were finally home. John stepped into his apartment, followed closely by Dorian. He felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally and wanted nothing more than to lie down in his bed and sleep. But as he made his way across the room, a wave of nausea hit him in a dizzying rush. He swayed on his feet and bent forward to brace his hands on his knees, but managed to keep his meager lunch down.

Dorian was at his side in an instant, an arm around John’s shoulders. “Let’s get you into bed,” he said in a slightly panicked voice and started to walk John forward.

And that’s all it took to break the last thread of John’s patience. “Jesus Christ, Dorian! I’m not completely helpless!” John snapped at him. How long had he lived alone, taking care of himself before Dorian was even in the picture? He was pregnant, not fucking crippled.

He wrenched away from Dorian’s touch, suddenly incensed, and not entirely sure if it was the pregnancy hormones or the fact that Dorian was treating him like the delicate Omega he had always feared he’d become that was making him lash out. But if there was one thing John did know for sure, it was that he was tired—tired of thinking, tired of the disarrayed state of his life, tired of the heavy feel of the choice he’d have to make settling like a weight over his shoulders.

He stomped the rest of the way to the bed on his own and sat down heavily, throwing his bag of pills across the room. They crashed against the nearest wall and thumped down to the ground with an echoing rattle. Dorian was rooted to his spot in the middle of the room, frustration flashing across his features.

“Can you please just tell me what I’m doing wrong here, John?”

“How ‘bout we start with the things you’re doing right? The list would be a hell of a lot shorter!” John barked out.

Dorian fisted his hands at his sides, his jaw bunching. “I realize the stressfulness of the situation, John, and I’m doing my best to help you, but-”

John didn’t let him finish. “If you wanna help me, Dorian, then quit treating my like I’m some fragile, breakable thing! You know me better than that.”

Dorian held up his hands in surrender, blue lines tracing down his face. “Alright, fair enough. But can you please just hear me out for a minute? We have priorities here that we need to talk about.”

“Well, hell. You think?” John asked sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dorian huffed out an aggravated sigh. “I think it’s important that we start thinking about what we’re going to tell Maldonado. If she finds out what we did, and pretty soon it’ll be more than a little obvious,” he said, motioning in the general direction of John’s stomach, “she’ll have no choice but to fire _you_ and shut _me_ down, permanently.”

John narrowed his eyes. “First of all, it’s none of Maldonado’s goddamn business who the father is; she only needs to know as much as I want to tell her, _if_ I decide to keep it at all. And second of all, what the fuck are you even talking about? The only one that’s got to worry here is _me_ , because if I get shit-canned, she’d just partner you with someone else.”

Dorian’s brow furrowed over his slate blue eyes. “Do you even remember Vanessa, John? They deactivated her because she had human DNA. How do you think you’re even pregnant? Synthetics, even DRN’s, don’t have the capability to produce viable…semen,” he paused, glancing away for a moment, “It would have had to come from somewhere—from some _one._ ”

John’s mouth hung open and he quickly closed it. He brought his finger up, pointing it at Dorian accusingly from his spot on the bed. “You’re telling me that you’re, what? Some kind of walking sperm bank? How the hell have you gotten along this far without knowing that? And don’t you give me that ‘wiped memory’ bullshit that Rudy tried pushing. You _knew_ you had Alpha and Omega characteristics, you told me that yourself, Dorian!”

“I _did_ have my memory wiped! You think I put you in this position on _purpose_?” Dorian shouted, advancing closer to the bed. “You should know _exactly_ how it feels to have pieces of your memory missing. Isn’t that why you keep visiting the Recollectionist?”

Dorian stopped only a couple feet in front of John and John had to crane his head up to look at him. He didn’t really have an answer to that. Didn’t seem like he had a fucking answer to _anything_ these days. He dropped his gaze, looking down at his hands. Frustrated tears began to well in his eyes and he blinked them back quickly. All he wanted was to sleep, was that too much to ask, for Christ’s sake?

Dorian let out a quiet sigh and sat down beside John. He was quiet for a moment. “Did you really mean what you said?”

John glanced over at him, then back down to his hands. “When, Dorian? I just said a lot of things.”

Dorian’s voice was very quiet, nearly inaudible, when he asked, “When you said ‘ _If_ I decide to keep it at all’”?

John shrugged and he felt a tear slip down his cheek. He scrubbed it away roughly. “I don’t know,” he said hoarsely.

Dorian brought his hand up, hooking a finger under John’s chin, gently guiding his head to the side to look at him. His eyes were full of an emotion John could not hope to name.

“I’m here with you, John. Whatever you decide, I’m here with you.” His words were like a soft caress, a promise John knew Dorian would never break.

He nodded slowly, and accepted the kiss Dorian brought up to his lips. It was gentle and warm and not enough. John had been to hell and back this last week and all he wanted, more than anything, was to feel the comforting press of Dorian’s body on top of his. It was all he had dreamed of in those dark moments during his capture. It was all that had kept him sane then. It was all that would keep him sane now.

He turned his body toward Dorian’s, bringing his hands up, fisting them in the fabric of his shirt. Dorian groaned when he felt the swipe of John’s tongue against his. And then he was suddenly standing. John watched as Dorian stood by the bed and tore his clothes off.

John wasted no time in pulling his own off, moving back on the mattress, lying back as Dorian crawled onto the bed. He made his way up John’s body, pressing lingering kisses to the tops of his thighs, the head of his suddenly erect cock, his belly. John felt a gush of wet slick his entrance and he moaned. Dorian quickly swallowed up the sound, greedily licking into John’s mouth as he settled himself between John’s legs.

He pushed in slowly, moving his body down over John’s, supporting his weight on his elbows up on either side of John’s head. He pressed a tender kiss to John’s forehead when he had thrust in completely, and John let his eyes flutter closed, let the feeling of safety envelop him. His heart felt full of something he was afraid to admit to, even if he was only admitting it to himself.

He quickly distracted himself with Dorian’s mouth, taking in hungry kisses as he brought his hands up to Dorian’s shoulders. Dorian continued to pump into him and John hooked his legs around Dorian’s back, angling his hips up for deeper penetration. Dorian’s cock glanced over his prostate three times in quick succession and he was undone. He came in jerky spasms, coating his own stomach with his release, shouting Dorian’s name hoarsely.

Dorian’s thrusts suddenly became erratic and then he was following John over the edge, spilling into him warmly, the chords on his neck standing out starkly with the strain of his orgasm.

Dorian got up after a moment to grab a warm washcloth and wiped John’s stomach clean, then helped him under the sheets before climbing into the bed himself. John dropped off to sleep almost as soon as Dorian had settled behind him, his back warmed by the press of Dorian’s chest against him, giving into the exhaustion that had been clawing at him nearly all day.

And when he woke in the night from nightmares he’d never remember in the morning, Dorian was there to soothe him back to sleep, keeping the promise he’d made, whispering the words into his ear.

_I’m here with you_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta be honest with you guys, I really struggled with this chapter for some reason.. I don't really know why. I had to scrap it and start from scratch three times O.o It wasn't really the subject matter or anything like that, I just couldn't seem to get the words out. Sooo, now that I'm finally happy with the way it turned out, I hope you guys enjoy it!  
> Oh, and as a little side note.. I listened to the song Poison & Wine by the Civil Wars on repeat nearly the whole time I wrote this chapter. You guys should definitely listen to it because I think it describes our two favorite boys in a perfect (and heartbreaking) way.  
> And as always, thank you for all your support! This story has come a long way from the one shot I had originally planned it to be, and it's all because of you! I have big plans for this story, so be sure to stay tuned!  
> xoxo,  
> Lopsided Whiskey Grin ^_^


	8. Ablaze

John woke slowly the next morning to the feel of Dorian’s arm snugged around his chest, holding John back against him, his warmth seeping into John’s skin.

John blinked his eyes open sleepily, absently wondering if Dorian’s body put out the heat naturally, or if he could adjust it somehow, innately knowing John’s comfort level. Hell, he already knew the temperature John preferred his coffee at, didn’t he?

A faint smile curved at John’s lips and he started to turn back toward Dorian, but Dorian’s hold tightened fractionally, keeping John still. John was about to turn his head to ask Dorian what was going on, and that’s when he felt it: Dorian’s hardening cock pressing against the bare curve of John’s ass.

His breath hitched in his chest as arousal immediately flushed through him, awakening his own dick, and he groaned, pushing back against Dorian.

Dorian moaned, rocking his hips forward slightly, his lips finding the back of John’s neck, mouthing a soft kiss to the tender flesh behind his ear. A shiver wracked through John and he brought the arm he didn’t have trapped under his pillow up to Dorian’s arm wrapped tightly across his chest, entwining their fingers together. He continued to push back against the cock teasing at his ass, pulling in panting breaths, fully awake now and fully hard.

“I can’t seem to get enough of you, John,” Dorian groaned against his ear, his voice husky and sleep-rough.

John realized then that this was the first time he’d actually woken up with Dorian, the first time he’d heard what Dorian’s voice sounded like first thing in the morning. Not even the time he’d gone down to pick up Dorian from the charging stations in the precinct had he seen him when he first awoke. There was such a raw intimacy from the realization that, for a moment, John could barely breathe. But the tortuously slow slide of Dorian’s cock between the slick cleft of his ass cheeks a half inch from penetration punched the air back into his lungs.

He tugged Dorian’s hand, still entwined with his, down his stomach, settling it against his achingly erect cock, letting Dorian know he felt the same damn way. How the hell could he even try to deny it anymore? The truth of it was, he couldn’t get enough of Dorian either. Couldn’t get enough of the feel of his body against his own, the thoughtful touches he grazed across his skin, the intricate flash of blue that lit down his face when he caught John watching him. John hadn’t felt so strongly for another person since, well, since ever. He craved Dorian with an intensity that scared him- an intensity John had thought was only possible through a shared bond. What the hell was it supposed to mean then, when John felt such a strong connection to Dorian when the mark they had shared didn’t even exist anymore?

John didn’t know why, was almost _afraid_ to know why. So he decided, and quite fucking resolutely, that it was something he’d put on the pile of all the things he’d think about later, much later, when his brain wasn’t so fogged over with arousal, when he wasn’t so goddamn distracted by the hot and teasing drag of Dorian’s cock across his hole.

John sucked in a sharp breath when Dorian’s hand, still covered with his own, wrapped around his dick, twisting slowly from base to tip. And whatever small amount of coherent thought John had thought he’d be able to hold onto evaporated in an instant, reducing his brain solely to sensation: the hard thrum of arousal low in his gut demanding release, the electric glide of pleasure running in a ceaseless current through all of his nerve endings, the heavy and rapid beat of his heart pounding away in his chest, clenching with an unfamiliar tightness. He felt assaulted, battered on all fronts, by the strength of the sensations surrounding him.

Dorian’s hand, their fingers still intertwined, continued to pump up and down his cock, working John together, building the pressure in his groin almost painfully. A groan rumbled out from Dorian’s chest, vibrating the sound through John’s back.

Dorian’s mouth was suddenly against the soft cup of John’s ear again. “I can’t get enough of you, John,” he said again, his voice pitched low. “And I don’t think I ever could.”

He drew his hips back then moved them forward again slowly, pressing the blunt head of his cock against John’s soaked entrance, but held back from pushing into him, driving John fucking crazy with need. He repeated the motion, drawing back, moving forward, but still denying John the fullness of his cock.

John couldn’t take it anymore. He needed Dorian’s cock inside him and he needed it now. He snapped his hips back, drawing Dorian inside him in one swift, complete move. Twin moans echoed loudly off the apartment walls.

John swore he saw fucking stars from the ecstasy of it all. And then the stars faded, condensing into tiny pinpricks of light when Dorian began to thrust in and out, alternating the strokes his hand delivered up and down his cock, driving John closer and closer to orgasm.

Dorian’s hips suddenly slammed up against his ass, burying his cock deep, filling John in a warm rush. He cried out John’s name, his chest contracting against John’s back, his hand tightening over John’s cock. It was finally enough to push John over the edge. He felt his balls draw up close to his body, felt his breath hitch in his chest, all a fraction of a second before he was coming, releasing his spend in thick spurts over Dorian’s fist.

Dorian pressed soft kisses to the back of John’s neck, holding him tightly through the aftershocks that trembled through them both, then withdrew slowly after John had a chance to catch his breath. John settled his back against Dorian’s chest, his heart slowing to its normal rat, but only had a moment to bask in the afterglow before his stomach lurched sickly.

He jolted up from the bed, making his way quickly to the bathroom on slightly unsteady legs. _Goddamn morning sickness_ , he groused to himself, kneeling before the toilet just in time to see what little food he had eaten at the hospital yesterday come up in a great rush.

He sat back on his haunches after his stomach finally stopped heaving and glanced over, seeing Dorian standing in the doorway. He held out a wetted washrag to John, concern flashing across his face along with those electric blue lines. John flushed the toilet and grabbed the rag from Dorian’s outstretched hand.

“Is there anything I can do?” Dorian asked quietly.

John wiped his mouth with the rag. “Just some water,” he rasped out, swallowing disgustedly against the taste of sick in his mouth.

Dorian nodded and started to turn from the doorway, but an idea occurred to John, an idea, that if it worked in his favor, could possibly relieve at least one of the things that had been thrown on that pile that only seemed to be growing larger. And maybe, once he had some answers, it would help make his choice a little easier.

“Dorian, wait,” John said from his spot on the floor. “There’s another thing you can do for me.”

Dorian turned back. “Whatever you need, John.”

“I think we should get ahold of Rudy. See if maybe he can figure out who created you. I have some questions…well, a lot of fucking questions, and I think he’ll be the only one that can answer them.”

Because, if what Dorian said was true, that he couldn’t get John pregnant himself, John wanted to know exactly whose kid he was carrying. It unsettled him, really, to think that finding out the answer to that would make his choice easier, that he was still entertaining the idea of _choosing_. He thought it would have been a fucking cut and dry decision; he’d terminate the pregnancy, get things back to the way it had been before. But hadn’t he ever known, his whole fucking life, how important it was to get just one chance? To be given the opportunity to fight?

Dorian nodded. “I’ll get Rudy on the line.”

He stood still until John reached his hand out to help him to his feet, seemingly learning his lesson from yesterday to wait until John actually asked for his help. John wobbled a little on his feet for a moment, then made his way out of the bathroom, Dorian following close behind.

Once he was back in the bedroom area, John threw on some clothes- comfortable black sweats and a black tank top, while Dorian dressed and went to the kitchen to get Rudy up on the monitor.

John sat down on a bar stool in front of the transparent screen after Dorian had dialed him up, drinking from a water bottle that Dorian had passed to him.

Rudy’s face came up, a wide grin curving his mouth. “John! It is so good to see you! How are you feeling?”

John offered a small smile and absently brought a hand up to rub against his cheek. He winced when he scrubbed against the contusions and cuts on his skin, almost forgetting they were still there. “Could be better, I guess.”

Rudy’s brows knit together over his large eyes.

“Rudy, listen. I need your help with something.”

He nodded. “Of course. Anything you need.”

Dorian was suddenly at John’s side again and set John’s two prescription bottles on the counter beside him. John gave them a cursory glance before centering his gaze back on the screen. “I need you to try and find Dorian’s engineer, whoever created him. There are a lot of questions I have, that I don’t think you or anyone else would be able to answer.”

Rudy began typing on this computer, glancing down and then to the side of the screen, presumably pulling up information on his end. “Dr. Vaughn is the creator of the basic DRN model, but it looks like the specific engineer for Dorian is…” he paused and looked back up to John. “It looks like that information is highly classified. I can’t access it.”

John sighed, dropping his gaze to his hands in his lap. _Fuck._

Rudy continued, his voice a low whisper, his face close to the screen. “I can’t access it _legally_.”

John couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face. “Rudy, I could kiss you.”

Rudy blushed, ducking his head down for a moment. “It will take me a little while to get into the encrypted files.”

“I can’t thank you enough, really,” John said.

Rudy nodded. “I’ll let you know when I find anything.”

John reached up to end the call, but Rudy caught his attention. “John, wait.”

John dropped his hand back down. “What?”

“Maldonado wanted me to give you a message if I happened to talk to you before she did.” He paused, clearly trying very hard to remember what the message was. “Oh, right. I was supposed to tell you, ‘Inform John that I will notify him if and when Braswell comes out of his coma. He can interrogate him then.”

And for the second time that morning, John felt like he was going to be violently ill. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize to you guys for how long this chapter took to post. My laptop screen went out a couple days ago, so I had to find somewhere to type it up and post it. But, guess what? I just found out that the library near my house rents out laptops to use while you're in the library! Pretty cool! Though I admit it was a little hard to find a place where no one would look over my shoulder to see what I was writing, a necessity when one is writing a particularly smutty sex scene lol   
> Anyways, thank you for always being so patient with me! You guys are the best! ^_^


	9. Like Fire and Gasoline

_Braswell’s still alive?_

John immediately paled and tied to tamp down the panic rising inside him, failing miserably in his desperate attempt.

Dorian stepped long, quick strides across the room from where he had been making the bed, almost knocking John from the stool he was sitting on when he rushed up to the holo-monitor that Rudy was still projected onto.

“What did you just say?” Dorian’s voice was urgent and loud, bordering on a barely restrained shout.

Rudy’s eyes widened, clearly surprised by Dorian’s fervor. “I was only giving John Captain Maldonado’s message,” he said, clearly not understanding who Braswell was, or why the information might have set Dorian off. “Are you operating on a full charge, Dorian? I can adjust the portable charger, if you need--”

Dorian glanced over at John, consternation etched clearly into the lines on his face, and he immediately flattened his palm against the holo-monitor’s base, blue lines tracing a furious pattern up his temple. The screen suddenly disappeared under his touch, cutting Rudy off mid-sentence.

John barely registered any of it. His brain was trying to take him away, but not to any place he even _remotely_ wanted to fucking go, not when it was dragging him back down to the warehouse, so dark and suffocatingly fetid. The memories were pulling him under, and not even to one moment in particular, just to the emotions, just to those feelings of fear and pain and desperation. His heart was racing, his breath heaving out of his lungs in quick pants, and he pushed up from the table, knocking the barstool over with a loud crash. Dizziness washed over him, blurring his vision-- the clawing panic overwhelming him so completely that when Dorian reached out for him, he only saw Braswell’s arms.

He shoved away from him roughly, stumbling back through the apartment blindly, needing to get away, but not knowing how. He’d suffered a handful of PTSD flashback episodes stemming from the raid, but nothing like this—nothing like the all encompassing terror he was experiencing now, stealing his breath, darkening his vision, jack hammering his heart so damn hard it felt like it was going to slam right out of his fucking ribcage.

Arms were suddenly surrounding him, strong arms, wrapping around him from behind. John, in his near mindless panic, did everything to struggle away, but the arms tightened firmly, though not painfully, around his shoulders and chest.

And then Dorian’s voice was there, against the back of his neck, breaking through the darkness surrounding him like a searchlight cutting through a dense, disorienting fog.

“I’m here with you, John. I’m here.”

Reality immediately came crashing down on him like a cresting tidal wave—the reality of where he was, of who he was with. It drained away the last remnants of his spiking adrenaline and with it, every last ounce of his already flagging energy.

His knees gave out and he sank to the floor weakly. Dorian, his arms still wrapped around him, followed him down, settling himself against his back, his knees bracketing John’s hips.

“I’m here, John. I’m here.” Dorian kept repeating the words like a grounding mantra, slowly soothing away the fear that was clutching so painfully at his heart.

And then the realization of how close he had come to never seeing Dorian again, of how close he had come to losing his fucking _life_ , finally hit him, hit him like a goddamn freight train. All the emotions he had been stubbornly pushing away in his bid to be strong and indifferent, whether he realized he was doing it or not, came cascading forward in a great, turbulent rush. He brought his hands up to his face, his whole body shaking with the force of the sobs that began wracking through him.

And still Dorian held him—held him as the tears continued to slip down his cheeks in seemingly unending rivulets. John hadn’t cried so hard since he’d been a child, before even his mother’s funeral, when he had vowed, at the tender age of twelve, that he’d be strong for his father, whose grief had nearly destroyed him, had nearly destroyed them both.

But although the tears seemed to have an almost cleansing capacity—a heady realization awash in the relief that he had survived Braswell’s murderous cruelty, they were also tinged with the sudden understanding that that second chance might not be so long lived, not now that he knew Braswell was still alive. And how did he really expect to protect himself _this_ time, when he had done such a goddamn bang up job of it when Braswell had abducted him so fucking _easily_ in the park? It made him question how much of a self-sufficient Omega he thought he really was.

“How?” he asked aloud, his voice thick with the tears he had begun to choke back. He brought his hands up, scrubbing the moisture from his cheeks. “How is that bastard still alive? I _saw_ him go down.”

 The events surrounding the warehouse had been somewhat muddied, to say the least, but he thought he’d at least remember _some_ of it clearly, especially that moment when Braswell had been taken down in a hail of gunfire. 

John could feel Dorian’s biceps bunch around him as his hold tightened slightly. “I don’t know how, John.” His voice was tight with emotion. “I saw him go down too. But I didn’t even think to scan is vitals. All I cared about was you. I saw you in that chair, and it was like I couldn’t get across the room fast enough.”

John felt Dorian lean forward and press his forehead between his shoulder blades.

“Then the paramedics were there, putting you on a stretcher, and I knew there was no way they were going to stop me from getting in that ambulance with you. I didn’t want to let you out of my sight—not after I had come so close to losing you, not after I found out that you’re…” His voice trembled and he paused for a moment, bringing his arms down to settle loosely around John’s middle before continuing, “Detective Paul was there with a handful of other officers and MX’s. He said he’d log the scene. It was the first time I’d ever broken protocol, the first time I didn’t document the scene as soon as the location was secured. They must’ve realized Braswell was still alive after we’d already left for the hospital, because if I had known before that, I- I don’t know what I would have done.” His hands tightened into fists for a fraction of a second before relaxing them into John’s lap again.

John drug in a shuddering breath and huffed it out in a humorless laugh. “Yeah, and then Maldonado would have made damn sure you’d be working with your janitor friend faster than you could say ‘emotionally compromised DRN’.”

John had tried to make the words a sharp rebuke, but knew they lacked any real conviction, because deep down, he knew that if their positions were switched, if Dorian had been abducted and broken down almost irreparably and John had found the sick bastard responsible, he’d have killed him with his bare hands, police protocol and ‘innocent until proven guilty’ be damned.

John sucked in a sharp breath and his whole body tightened with the revelation. It shifted something deep inside of him, something he was unwilling to examine more closely, if only because the first and last time he had let down the barriers around his heart, allowing Anna in, putting his explicit trust in her, offering so much of _himself_ , it had ended badly, _very_ fucking badly. And if there was one thing John was good at, it was learning from his mistakes, especially ones that had damn near killed him, physically _as well as_ emotionally.

And so it was a small mercy when the holo-monitor chimed an incoming call alert, saving John from trying to sort through the damnable feelings that were trying so hard to pry their way into his heart.

He glanced up at the table, seeing the projected red flash of Rudy’s name hovering over the holo-monitor’s base. “He might have found something,” he said quietly.

Dorian’s arms fell away from around John’s middle and he pushed himself to standing in one quick motion and stepped to the table, answering Rudy’s call.

John stayed on the floor for a moment, rubbing away the last few stubborn tears at the corners of his eyes and carding a hand through his hair before standing and making his way over to Dorian.

Rudy’s brows were bunched together over his large eyes. “John, Valerie has just informed me of the specifics of your…case. I had no idea who Braswell even was. Please, forgive me for the insensitivity of my remark.”

John forced a thin, understanding smile. “Were you able to find anything out with your _research_?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.

Rudy swallowed visibly and emphatically nodded, bringing his face close to the screen. “I did, in fact.” He glanced to the side and John could here the faint tapping of computer keys before he looked forward again. “I’m sending the details to Dorian now.”

John glanced to Dorian standing beside him, watching as electric blue lit up the side of his face.

Rudy cleared his throat and continued, “It seems that a certain Dr. Thomas Lowery was the specific engineer for Dorian. He obtained him through some sort of special government grant, the only one bought from the handful of DRN’s that Dr. Vaughn had already produced for the police force. I’m not able to access Dr. Lowery’s explicit _reason_ for receiving Dorian, or to what end he needed him for, but I _did_ find his last known residence. You’ll be able to ask him yourself, if he’s still there, I suppose. If he’s willing to actually answer any questions at all, that is. He seems to be a bit eccentric, from what little information I was able to find on him.”

John bid Rudy his thanks and ended the call. He looked over at Dorian. “You up for a little field trip?”

Dorian studied his face for a moment, a few blue lines chasing over his cheek. “Sure, but can I make a suggestion first?”

John sighed. “What is it?”

“I think you should try and eat something before we go.” He glanced down to John’s middle. “Your stomach has been growling for like the last ten minutes, man.”

John brought a hand up and rubbed his belly, suddenly realizing it was true. He was fucking starving.

“Okay,” he conceded, “ Let me cook up some noodles _, then_ we can go.”

/////////////////////////

It wasn’t until after John had voraciously eaten a bowl of ramen, then vomited it up, then taken a shower, _then_ eaten a piece of plain toast, that they had actually gotten out of the apartment.

He had complained, and loudly, the entire ninety-minute trip to Dr. Lowery’s house about his inability to keep down a bowl of goddamn noodles, and had only stopped grousing when they reached the doctor’s front door. Dorian had wisely stayed quiet the entire time.

John glanced to the quiet, unassuming suburban neighborhood surrounding the doctor’s house, then pushed the intercom beside the door, looking into the small security camera above the speaker. “Dr. Thomas Lowery?”

“Who is it?” a weary, nervous sounding voice asked.

“Detective John Kennex. Can we ask you a few questions?” he replied, shoving his badge up in front of the camera.

Silence was his only answer

John dropped his hand down to his side, nearly defeated, until Dorian stepped over, moving John aside gently.

“Dr. Lowery?” he asked softly, looking into the small security camera, blue lines tracing an elaborate pattern across the right side of his face.

Silence still, then after a beat, the door clicked open. A tall, thin man, wire-rim glasses settled low on the bridge of his nose, shoulders stooped slightly with age, pulled the door back, his face a careful study in unmasked surprise.

“Dorian?” He breathed out the name in a quiet disbelief, brushing a lock of salt and pepper hair from his eyes.

Dorian moved forward a step. “Yes. Dr. Lowery, we have a few questions we’d like to ask you, completely off the books.”

Dr. Lowery glanced between John and Dorian, brows drawing together, clearly uncertain.

A trickle of blue slipped down Dorian’s temple. “Please,” he continued softly, “I need to know the reason you created me. What was my original purpose?”

The doctor straightened back slightly, blinking his brown eyes rapidly before anxiously glancing to the neighborhood behind them. He then quickly ushered them both inside.

After securing the door behind them, he led them in long strides through his moderately sized, immaculately clean house without speaking a word. John and Dorian exchanged a glance as they followed him back down a long hallway that soon opened into a small, darkly appointed home office.

And it wasn’t until he had bolted the office door and turned back to them that he actually spoke. “Please forgive the extreme measures, but it is vital that I keep conversations like these private.”

John glanced around the closed-off room. Dark, hardwood floors, covered nearly completely by a plush, deep red Persian rug ran the length of the small, windowless office. A large glass table, flanked by four simple desk chairs took up a majority of the room.

 John looked back to Dr. Lowery. “This room is completely sound-proofed, isn’t it?” It was surprising, in this day and age, that any room actually could be, what with all the hidden cameras, CCTVs, and concealed radio transmitters being produced and installed on a seemingly daily basis.

The doctor nodded. “Indeed, it is,” he replied to John’s question, but didn’t take his eyes from Dorian, whom he had been studying closely since they entered the room.

He reached a hand up to Dorian’s face, and John felt an unfamiliar flare of jealousy tighten his chest. But Dr. Lowery paused, his fingertips hovering just over Dorian’s cheek, before dropping his hand back down to his side.

“H- How is it possible that you are here right now?” he asked Dorian. “I thought you were decommissioned years ago.”

Dorian’s eyes searched his face, blue lines gliding in their intricate pattern. “That is just one question of many we have for you.” He glanced over at John, his eyes dropping momentarily to his stomach. John looked down, suddenly realizing he had absently been tracing slow circles over his belly and quickly shoved his hands in his pockets.    

The brief interaction was not lost on the doctor. Two bright blooms of color splotched high up on his cheekbones and his Adam’s apple bobbed visibly as he swallowed. “I’ll give you as many details as I can, but I need your assurance that this information will not leave this room.”

Dorian and John both nodded solemnly. Rudy was right when he said Dr. Lowery was a little eccentric, but John wondered if that was just the nature of his character, or if it was one moment in particular that had made him that way.

The doctor stepped to the table, flattening his fingertips against one corner of the glass surface. The table immediately came to life, projecting images above the reflective surface. He swiped his hand across the smooth plane, bringing up a picture of starkly white engineering lab, immaculately clean and organized.

He looked over at John and Dorian standing beside the table, colors from the monitor reflecting off of his glasses. “Seven years ago I was employed by Cromwell University’s engineering department. I used to teach Master’s and Ph.D. courses on the creation and practical use of biomechanical engineering in the then blossoming field of android development. I was approached by a newly formed branch of the government claiming interest in one of the scientific articles that I had recently published.”

He swiped his hand over the glass surface again, pulling up an excerpt from a scientific journal. The title, in bold, black letters, stated: The Future of Dynamic Capacities in Synthetic Androids.

He looked up to John and Dorian. “I had only written the article as a ‘what-if’ scenario. Creating androids with Alpha and Omega characteristics seemed only like a far off goal, something that could only be accomplished once technologies had advanced.”

John brought a hand up, cutting off the doctor’s speech. “Wait. What purpose would that even serve though, Doc? To what end, exactly?”

Dr. Lowery pulled off his glasses and rubbed a hand down his face before settling them on his nose again. “I had thought that endowing androids with Alpha and Omega features would aid in war-torn countries, in places where it was impossible to have any sort of access to suppressants. It had been my idea that androids would be able to carry in suppressants to areas that were too dangerous for human soldiers to enter, and if it were too late for suppressants to be effective, that they would be able to offer their services to Omegas that had already gone in to heat, as well as be available to Alphas that may require the benefit of an Omega without the worry of an unplanned pregnancy in locations that were already strained for resources-”

John frowned. “Now wait just one goddamn second…” he growled.

Dr. Lowery ducked his head down in a brief sign of submission before holding up his hands. “Please, Detective Kennex, allow me to finish.”

Dorian glanced over at him and John settled his arms across his chest.

Dr. Lowery nodded tersely and continued, “It was only my intention to relieve the high percentage of violent instances in the countries I had heard so many terrible stories about on the news… to aid those that had no access to suppressants. I never imagined my article would spark any serious interest. Nor did I believe that the technology to create what I had imagined would be available in my lifetime.

It wasn’t until the spokesperson for the Biomechanical Defense Agency from the government contacted me that I even knew Dr. Vaughn had created the groundwork for the Synthetic Soul. They granted me enough money so that I could quit my tenure at Cromwell and begin work with Dr. Vaughn to create a DRN capable of possessing both Alpha and Omega characteristics.

This was right around the time The Wall was being built around the city.

 The BDA contracted me specifically, without Vaughn’s knowledge, to create a DRN capable of preserving a- and… utilizing…a store of human sperm with the intention of sending him over The Wall. It had gotten so bad over there, s-so many lives had been lost with all the in-fighting and territorial and dominance wars, that the government was worried the population would soon be decimated.”

Dr. Lowery paused, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I created Dorian, with Dr. Vaughn’s assistance and his model for the Synthetic Soul, as a prototype. He was an identical representation of a Mr. Dorian Crux, a student of mine. A very bright, very thoughtful young man.”

The doctor swiped his hand across the table again, bringing up a still picture of Dorian, but John had to remind himself, not _his_ Dorian, smiling broadly and wearing a black cap and gown. The still picture jumped to a moving video clip of Dorian wrapping his arm around Dr. Lowery, squeezing his shoulder in a happy side-hug, grinning proudly into the camera. 

John glanced to Dorian then to the doctor. Both were watching the video raptly. “So, was this _Dorian Crux_ the one that donated the uh…” he cleared his throat, “the one that made the contribution?”

Dr. Lowery pulled his gaze from the video clip. “Yes. He agreed to be a part of my research program. He was the perfect candidate in every way: highly intelligent, athletic, compassionate, deeply empathetic. He was as invested in the program as I was; he only ever wanted to help people. But he was never able to see the fruits of our labor. He was killed in a hit and run accident three weeks before my prototype DRN was completed.” Dr. Lowery’s voice broke over the last word and he paused, pulling in a deep breath.

“It was only two months after Dorian’s death that the bill banning all androids from possessing human DNA was passed. My research project was immediately shut down and my prototype, the only one I had created,” he motioned toward Dorian, “was taken away to be wiped like the rest of the DRN’s who had begun to malfunction. They assured me that Dorian would be decommissioned, or possibly be put to use repairing satellites. It broke my heart to watch them take him offline and remove him from my lab- the last remaining reminder of my friend. But I realized it had to be done.”

Dr. Lowery swiped at a tear rolling down his cheek. “And now, seeing you standing before me,” he looked at Dorian, “I realize that none of that was true. They must have put you back into society without realizing what you were really capable of.”

Dorian nodded slowly. “I was assigned as John’s partner a short time ago, after a failed attempt at partnering him with an MX. I had no idea of my full capabilities, not after I had been wiped, only just the barest hint of a memory that I was created with dual Dynamic features.”

The conversation went along without John. His focus had been drawn back to the still picture of Dorian up on the holo-screen, smiling broadly, the curve of it pressing a dimple up on the left side of his mouth; a face John had seen Dorian make many times before. The words Dr. Lowery had spoken kept repeating softly in his mind- _thoughtful, compassionate, deeply empathetic_ \- words that described Dorian in nearly every light. But he was that and so much more, more than John had ever expected to find in him, or anyone. _Loyal, self-sacrificing, caring, passionate, observant, respectful, tender, gentle._ All the things John had needed but had never thought he deserved.

He looked down to his stomach, noticing he was rubbing his belly again, and glanced back up to Dorian standing beside him. As far as John was concerned, it was Dorian’s child he was carrying, because it _was_. There was really no denying it now, not after all that Dr. Lowery had just told them. And if John had thought that finding out who had created Dorian and why would make his choice any easier, he was goddamn right. It carved his decision in fucking stone: John and Dorian were having a kid.

He grinned widely and slipped his hand in Dorian’s, squeezing tightly, as Dr. Lowery continued to talk and pull up pictures on his holo-monitor, finally accepting that maybe he really did deserve some good in his life sometimes, because, really, wasn’t it about goddamn time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy... This was another one that took a while to get out! Damn my pesky life always trying to get in the way of writing (which is a lot more fun) :P anyways, I wanted to give you guys a nice, long chapter for being so supportive and understanding.. I know these take a long time to post sometimes. Thanks again for all the comments and kudos and bookmarks! You guys really are the best! Hopefully the next chapter won't take quite so long to write out! (fingers crossed!) ^_^ <3  
> p.s. I listened to this song the other day, Dust to Dust by The Civil Wars (I'm a little obsessed with them, what can I say?) and it totally, like 100% describes John and Dorian in this way that is just, ugh, heart-wrenching. Lemme know what you guys think, if you happen to listen to it :D


	10. Dry Kindling

Twelve and a half weeks had passed since John and Dorian had gone to see Dr. Lowery –twelve and a half weeks since John and Dorian’s lives had begun to change in a very distinct, very significant way; a way that John had embraced whole-heartedly, even knowing it wasn’t going to be easy, because when had anything ever been easy for him? But for how difficult John knew all of this might become, he couldn’t be bothered to worry, because he knew he wouldn’t be facing it _alone_.

Dorian had been the one constant that grounded him –his partner, his equal in all of it. He had never treated John as anything less. And while those couples John had seen in his doctor’s office waiting room at the two appointments he had been to so far were happy and content enough to settle into their societal edicts, he knew, after a lifetime of struggling to carve out his independence from a dynamic that insisted on an unquestioning obedience, that he would never fall into those submissive Omega characteristics, whether he was carrying an Alpha’s kid or not.

Dorian had been the only one who had ever understood that –understood it and still accepted him with an unconditional intensity that John, even now, wasn’t entirely sure he completely deserved.

Time had continued to march on and John had soon learned how to gauge it not in months but in weeks, steadily counting down the forty until his February 2nd due date. The last twelve and a half weeks had seemed to fly by while somehow simultaneously dragging along at a fucking snail’s pace. He had gone back to work the week following his rescue from the warehouse, keeping himself busy with the handful of cases Maldonado had assigned to him and Dorian, doing everything he could to keep his mind off of the fact that Braswell was in a coma not more than four miles from the precinct. True, he was in a medically _induced_ coma and was completely unresponsive, but he was alive nonetheless. Maldonado had assured him that an MX was on a 24hour watch outside the hospital room and that Memorial General had strict instructions to call the precinct directly when Braswell was deemed well enough to pull from the coma; reassurances that did little to ease John, though he did his best to just not think about it, which seemed to help for the most part. 

As John eased closer to his second trimester he noticed that his morning sickness had, mercifully, begun to fade. And while he had yet to show his pregnancy in any physical way that anyone else could tell, _he_ had noticed his clothes felt a little tighter –a problem that was only exacerbated by his seemingly insatiable hunger. He ate whatever food he could get his hands on, even the few vegetables Dorian had been able to get him to choke down. But if there had been one thing John had thought he couldn’t live without, one goddamn thing, it was a peanut butter sandwich with a thick slice of cheddar cheese snugged in between the two pieces of bread –which, truth be told, surprised the hell out of him, not only because of the bizarrely delicious combination but mostly because he had thought that, if anything, he would have craved noodles, having subsisted on them for damn near forever. But now he found he could hardly care one fucking _iota_ about noodles, not when just the _thought_ of a peanut butter and cheese sandwich set his mouth to drooling. He couldn’t really explain it, knowing only that he couldn’t seem to get enough of them. Dorian had learned pretty quickly to keep both cheese and peanut butter on hand after John had dragged him out of the apartment at two in the morning, somewhere around his seventh week, after he had gone through the last jar of crunchy. The cupboards had a constant supply now.

But besides his one strange food craving, John had found he had another seemingly rapacious need, and not one that could be satisfied by a peanut butter and cheese sandwich. He craved _Dorian_ and with a yearning that was nearly impossible to ignore. John felt like he was in a near constant state of arousal. Put plainly, he was horny –horny as fucking hell.

It wasn’t the insistently heavy type of desire that had pummeled him so brutally during his heat though; no, it was more of a quiet, perpetually beating pulse, a subtle hunger that gained glaring intensity at random times during the day –not exactly ideal when it was absolutely, positively vital that they keep all knowledge of their relationship from everyone at the precinct…hell, anyone anywhere really. But John had found that, even knowing the risks, it was damn near impossible during one of those ‘flare ups’ for him to keep his hands off Dorian.

They had taken to making their way down to the rarely used conference room in the basement in the least conspicuous ways possible, to make quick work of John’s urges, Dorian taking John over the table like he had that first time they had used the room, back when all of it had started.

The need had gotten so bad at times that John had felt like he’d keel over and die if he couldn’t feel Dorian’s hands on his bare skin, as evidenced by the instance two weeks ago when John had whipped his police cruiser into the nearest, darkest alley after they had left the station for the day, scrambling onto Dorian’s lap after shimmying out of his cargos, riding Dorian’s cock until he was breathless and finally sated, before righting his clothes and settling back in the driver’s seat.

Dorian didn’t seem like he minded in the least, and had worn a broad, ecstatic grin, like a kid who knows the biggest, best secret, nearly every single day, the electric lines on his face seeming to shine a brighter blue whenever he looked at John.

But within the last week something had changed. Dorian had become withdrawn, distracted. John couldn’t really pinpoint the exact moment it had happened, but it had. And ever true to his obstinate nature, John had stubbornly refused to bring it up, assuming that if he had angered Dorian somehow, he’d eventually just tell him what the fuck he had done wrong. But as the week drew to a close with no light shed on the damn subject and with Dorian as quiet and distant as he had been to begin with, John had finally gotten fed up with it.

He pulled a jar of peanut butter from the cupboard and turned to the kitchen island, slamming it down on the counter with a little more force than was necessary.

Dorian, who had been looking out the window at the far end of the apartment, jumped at the sudden noise. He turned to John, late summer sunlight spilling through the glass, bracketing him in a warm glow.

“You wanna tell me what the hell is going on here?” John asked, irritation clear in his voice.

Dorian looked at him, baffled. “What do you mean, John? I was only looking out the-“

John cut him off, bringing up a table knife covered in peanut butter, pointing in Dorian’s direction. “No, no, no. I’m not talking about right this second. I’m talking about this whole damn week, Dorian. Did I do something to piss you off?”

Blue lines flashed down Dorian’s temple a fraction of a second before disappearing. “It’s nothing, John. Really.”

John set the knife down and crossed his arms over his chest. “Bullshit.”

Dorian huffed out a long-suffering sigh and closed his eyes for a moment before centering his slate-blue gaze on John again. “Okay. You want to know what’s bothering me, John?”

“I just asked, didn’t I?” John shot back.

Dorian was quiet for a moment, his mouth pressed into a thin line before he spoke. “Eight days ago we responded to the robbery-in-progress at the First National Bank. The single suspect was armed.”

John nodded. “Yeah, so?”

“You entered the lobby before the MX’s could assess the area. You would have known the assailant was directly behind the teller counter if you had just waited.”

John leaned forward, settling his hands on the countertop. “What does it matter? We took him down, didn’t we?”

“He fired at you, John!” Dorian cried.

“Yeah, but the bullet went wide right. He was a terrible shot.”

Dorian ran a hand over his eyes, clearly exasperated. “You can’t keep taking risks like this, John.”

John grunted out a humorless laugh. “It’s kind of a job requirement, Dorian. Saving lives and all that.”

“But it is _my_ job to protect _you_ , John. Now more than ever. What would have happened if the assailant _wasn’t_ a terrible shot? What then? How can I protect you when you won’t let me?” He dropped his hands down limply at his sides.

“Dorian, listen,” John said, moving from the counter to stand in front of him. “You have saved my life more times than I can even count. And yeah, I know I can be a little reckless sometimes, but it’s the way I’ve _always_ been. Sometimes you just have to take chances. And besides, Maldonado already told me I’d be doing deskwork here in the next couple weeks. So you really don’t have anything to worry about.”

John had let Maldonado he was pregnant his first week back after his rescue, only giving her the most general information possible, glossing over who the father was by telling her it was the product of a one night stand. He didn’t really know what that might have said about his character, and he didn’t particularly _enjoy_ lying to his Captain, he just hadn’t seen any other option, and still didn’t. She had told him that it was department policy that any expectant detectives and officers be pulled from fieldwork and assigned to a light duty position as soon as they started to show, just as a safety precaution, and John had agreed with the decision.

Dorian didn’t seem entirely put at ease. “That’s just the thing though, John. I _do_ worry. I worry constantly. Ever since we heard the baby’s heartbeat at last week’s appointment, it’s made everything so _real._ I can’t stop scanning you to make sure everything’s okay.” His voice picked up pace, a panicked tremor running just under the surface. “I mean, what if something happens to you or the baby? What if something happens to _me_ and I’m not there to protect you? I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, John.”

John brought his hands up, settling them on Dorian’s shoulders. “Dorian, stop. You’re strong and _capable_ \--we both are. You’re not gonna lose me. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Dorian looked up at him, his eyebrows drawn together, a single line of electric blue tracking down his cheek like a tear.

“Unless _you’re_ planning on going somewhere?” John asked playfully, a lopsided grin curving the side of his mouth.

Dorian shook his head as John slipped his hands up from his shoulders, settling them on the sides of his neck, his thumbs tracing a light path along his jaw. “I’m here with you, John. I’ll always be here,” he answered softly, accepting the kiss John pressed to his lips.

It was a gentle, languid thing, that kiss, with John pouring as much reassurance into it as he could --trying to show Dorian that even though there were no guarantees in this life, even though every goddamn thing could be turned upside-down in an instant, if they had each other, they could face and _survive_ those uncertainties together.

Dorian’s hands settled at John’s hips, his fingers fisting into the material of John’s shirt, seemingly accepting John’s unspoken encouragement. He drug in long, slow pulls from John’s mouth, leaving John breathless from the depth of understanding passing between them.

Life was a fragile thing, easily broken, easily ended –fuck if John hadn’t learned that in some of the hardest ways. But that only meant that it shouldn’t be taken for granted. It meant that if you found that one person that you _knew_ you were meant to spend it with, you didn’t let go –you held on as hard as you could, for as long as you could. It was more than loyalty, more than devotion; it was commitment. It was acknowledging the risks, accepting that you had no control over them, and making the choice anyway.

Comprehension suddenly dawned on John, like the sun bursting through a dark layer of stubbornly heavy clouds, and he pulled back from the kiss, panting for breath, his eyes wide as he looked at Dorian standing before him, his hands never leaving the sides of Dorian’s neck.

Dorian gazed back up at him, lips parted, swaying slightly on his feet.

“I can’t take this for granted anymore.” John’s voice was little more than a whisper.

“Can’t take _what_ for granted, John?” Apprehension flashed across Dorian’s face.

“This, Dorian. _Us_. I thought that keeping your mark, our _bond_ , would just set us up for failure, for heartbreak. I never wanted to feel what my dad felt, because it seemed so inevitable, so goddamn devastating. But I get it now.” He paused, dropping his hands to his sides and forcing the tremor from his voice, “My parents were bonded because it was worth it. Because no matter what could have happened, no matter how much or how little time they had together, that hurt in the end was worth it. _This_ ,” he said motioning to the space between them, “every single damn second, is worth it.”

Dorian looked up at him. “What are you trying to say, John?”

“I can’t go through my life anymore pretending that this isn’t permanent. I can’t go through my life anymore without putting everything into what we have. There is nothing more that I want than to wear your mark, Dorian. I never should have had it erased in the first place.”

Dorian stared up at him, his face a flurry of emotion and blue lines. “Are you sure, John?”

John brought a hand up, carding it through his hair, a smile breaking across his lips. “Yeah.” He hadn’t felt more sure about anything in his entire goddamn life.

Dorian mirrored his smile with a grin of his own. “We’ll have to disable Rudy’s block,” he said, touching his fingertips against the side of his head briefly.

John arched an eyebrow. “How hard could it be?”

////////////////

After half an hour and a long string of vibrant curses John had finally disabled the block with Rudy’s help from the holo-monitor. He signed off with Rudy after putting Dorian back online, bending forward to study Dorian’s face as he sat perched on a barstool in front of John.

 He smiled when Dorian’s eyes returned to their normal steel-blue color. “Morning, sunshi-” His words promptly fell away when the thick scent of Dorian’s pheromones flooded his nostrils. A sudden rush of moisture slicked his entrance before his brain even had a chance to process what was happening.

Dorian looked up at him sheepishly. “Guess it worked.”

John couldn’t even form the words for a reply. He grabbed Dorian by his shirtfront, hauling him up from the barstool, smashing their lips together in a rough, needy kiss as a wave of arousal crashed over him.

Dorian let out a noise of surprise at the sudden assault, stumbling for a moment as he tried to gain his footing.

John started walking them back toward the bed, their lips never breaking contact, except for when they pulled back long enough to shed their clothes in a hapless pile on the floor.

Dorian fell back on the bed with a grunt, blue lines tracing a furious pattern over his face. He moved back on the mattress, his dark skin a stark and beautiful contrast against the white sheets.

John’s dick, already achingly erect, spasmed when he saw a bead of fluid pearling on the tip of Dorian’s cock. He wasted no time in scrambling onto the bed and straddling Dorian’s narrow hips.

Dorian’s hands flew to John’s thighs as he lowered himself down in one rapid push. Twin moans echoed through the apartment.

It did not take long for them to fall into an even rhythm with John leveraging himself with his hands planted firmly on Dorian’s chest, and Dorian’s hips bucking up to meet John’s thrusts down, filling him with a blissful heaviness.

Dorian’s hand was suddenly wrapped around John’s cock, pumping up and down the length of him, alternating the motions with John’s rises and falls. John threw his head back, gritting his teeth against the near overwhelming sensations bombarding him as he continued to ride Dorian.

Dorian’s thrust quickly became erratic and he slammed up into John roughly, crying out his name in a broken stutter as his orgasm exploded out of him. John felt it fill him a warm liquid rush.

Hearing Dorian shout out his name, seeing the utter look of completion tightening his face, was enough to finally send John over the edge. He came in forceful, jerky spasms, painting Dorian’s stomach with his release, groaning loudly with the fucking intensity of it.

He immediately settled himself down on Dorian’s chest, fighting to catch his breath, feeling his heart knock heavily against his ribcage. Dorian brought a hand up under John’s chin, lifting his head enough to press a warm kiss to his mouth.

John could feel Dorian’s other hand slide warmly down his back toward his ass, his fingers slipping in the come that was leaking out around Dorian’s cock that was still imbedded inside him. He moaned against Dorian’s mouth.

Dorian pulled back from John, centering his gaze on him as he drug his wet fingers along John’s neck, tracing a wide path along the pulse point that was fluttering wildly.

John closed his eyes as a searing burn scorched along his neck for a fraction of a second before washing into a cool tingle that seemed to flush through his whole body.

He blinked open his eyes and smiled, his heart full of a contentment he never thought he’d be able to feel.

Dorian grinned back at him and stretched his neck forward, pressing a kiss to John’s forehead. “It’s worth it,” he said softly as John settled himself back down on Dorian’s chest.

“You’re goddamn right it is,” John mumbled, nuzzling up against Dorian’s neck, pulling in a deep breath of his scent.

John could feel the chuckle that rumbled through Dorian’s chest.

But then Dorian suddenly stilled, the arm he had draped across John’s back tightening, pulling him closer against him.

“John.” Dorian’s voice was suddenly uneasy.

John felt his stomach twist into a queasy knot. “What is it?”

“Braswell’s awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell you guys how happy I am to know that you're all enjoying this story so much! All your comments and bookmarks and kudos keep me going, they really do ^_^ And because you guys are soooo awesome, I wanted to leave it up to YOU to decide if John and Dorian are going to have a BOY or a GIRL! So, to let me know what you think they should have, leave your choice either in a comment (even guests are allowed to comment if they don't have an AO3 account) OR send me a message on my tumblr account at http://lopsided-whiskey-grin.tumblr.com/ (you can leave an anonymous message if you want). I'll tally up all your votes and reveal the gender in the next two or three chapters! I just thought it would be kinda fun to leave it up to you guys to decide, since you all have been so super amazing and have been so patient with me, even when these chapters sometimes take an eternity to post! ^_^  
> xoxo, Lopsided Whiskey Grin


	11. Alight

_Peace._

It was almost a foreign word to John. He hadn’t been afforded much of it in his life, not when it seemed like he was constantly battling one crisis after another. He just thought, maybe a little foolishly, that he deserved five goddamn seconds of it. Was it really so much to ask?

He pushed up from Dorian, his heart, still thumping wildly from its previous exertions, hadn’t even had a chance to slow before Dorian’s startling announcement had ratcheted the rate up even higher.

Dorian’s hands fell to the tops of John’s thighs after John had sat up, concern and dread drawing his brows together. Blue lines were tracing a furious, uneasy pattern down the side of his face as he looked at John above him.

He opened his mouth, about to speak, when John’s mobile chimed from the bedside table.

They both glanced over at it simultaneously.

“It is most likely Captain Maldonado. She is the one that just messaged me. She probably doesn’t realize we are together,” John heard Dorian say softly.

John knew he meant in the same _room_ together, but still shuddered to think what she would do if she ever found out how _together_ they really were.

He shook the thought from his head, absently bringing a hand up to his neck, rubbing his palm lightly against the mark Dorian had just laid there, then gingerly moved off of him, wincing slightly at the over sensitization in his ass when Dorian’s softening cock slid out of him. He crawled across the mattress, grabbing up the phone before it stopped ringing.

“Kennex,” he said roughly, picking up the call.

“John, it’s Sandra. I’ve just received word from Memorial General that they’ve deemed Braswell stable enough to pull from his coma.”

John leaned forward over the side of the bed, bracing his elbows on his knees, his eyes squeezing shut.

Hearing it a second time didn’t do anything to make it any easier –hell, the thirteen fucking weeks between the last time he had seen the bastard and now had barely been enough to do _that_.

But, John realized, with a sudden swell of conviction, that the only way he’d ever get over this, the only damn way he’d be able to move on, was if he faced Braswell one last time before they put that asshole in the Cubes for good. He needed that closure for himself, but also for the families of those victims whose deaths had been passed off as suicides. And interrogating Braswell today, _now_ , was the only way to finally get a firm and definitive grasp on that resolution.

He straightened up from his hunched position on the bed. “Keep an MX stationed outside his door. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“No, John, listen. I want you to stay away from the hospital. I’ve got Richard on his way down there now. He processed the scene, he can process Braswell.”

John’s heart plummeted. “What? No. Sandra-”

She cut him off. “I know I said I’d allow you to interrogate him, but I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to put you under any undue stress, John.”

He raked a hand through his hair roughly. “I have to do this,” he said in a low, even voice, barely successful in biting back the pleading whine at the back of his throat. “It’s the only way I can get closure, Sandra. For me and Christ only knows how many victims. Please, it’s the only way I can get past this.”

There was only silence on the other end of the line. John held the phone away, almost certain she had hung up on him. He settled it back against his ear when he saw the call was still connected.

There was a heavy sigh from the other end of the line. “Alright, John,” she conceded, “But take Dorian with you; I informed him of the Bradwell’s condition right before I called you. And document _everything_. We already have more than enough incriminating evidence on this guy to keep him locked up for a long time, but I want to make absolutely _sure_ that this sonofabitch never sees the light of day again.”

There was an uncharacteristic lethality in her voice that John was very glad as not directed at him.

She stayed on the line a few moments longer, giving him the specifics of Bradwell’s location and room number and other general information. He was about to end the call when she spoke again.

“And John?”

He stilled. “Yeah?”

“Be careful. That’s an order.”

“Understood,” he said with an earnest nod, though he knew she couldn’t see it.

He set the phone back down on the nightstand and turned toward Dorian when he felt him shift beside him on the bed.

“Sandra says the hospital won’t discharge Braswell to the police until they’ve had a chance to observe him for at least a week, but they _will_ allow us to ‘ask him a few questions’,” he said, bringing his hands up to motion air quotes, a grim half-smile curving his lips.

Blue flashed its way up Dorian’s face and he mirrored John’s smile with one of his own. “Then let’s get cleaned up and head out.”

John blinked and glanced down to his belly, seeing the drying come flaking against his skin in patches where it had been transferred from Dorian’s stomach when John had lain on top of him, trapping his spend between them. He looked back up at Dorian, processing all of what he had just said--he was more than a little surprised, having honestly expected more of a fight from him about going to see Braswell.

Dorian moved forward on the bed, capturing John’s hands in his, seemingly sensing the reason for John’s slightly stunned expression. A cool, prickling tingle washed up the side of John’s neck at the touch.

“I heard what you told Captain Maldonado and I get it. I know that this is something you have to do. And if it helps to relieve the strain of this burden, then there is no possibility that I would stand in the way of that. I am here with you, John. Always,” he said, tightening his hands around John’s gently before letting them go. 

They made their way to the bathroom, John coaxing Dorian into the shower with him for a quick rinse-off. It had only been a couple weeks ago that John had learned that Dorian was able to stand under the water’s spray without malfunctioning in some way, and had taken full advantage of the fact. But now, when time was of the essence, John was happy enough to jump in for a quick wash down, though he wished they could have had longer. And, judging by the telling looks Dorian gave him as they stood under the warm cascading water, John wasn’t alone in that wish.

/////////////

They were dressed and out the door in under fifteen minutes, making it to Memorial General in nearly less time than that. Hospital staff directed them to Braswell’s room, distinctly marked by the MX standing guard outside the door.

John and Dorian walked into the room just as a nurse was leaving. Color was riding high on her pale cheekbones, highlighting the disgusted look plastered on her face. She stomped out of the room in a huff, flicking her auburn hair off her shoulder pointedly, not even glancing in their direction.

John looked to the propped up hospital bed, seeing Braswell sitting against the pillows behind him, a viciously smug smile darkening his features as he watched the nurse leave.

John had thought when he saw the Alpha again he’d have to choke back an overwhelming dread and force himself not to bolt from the room in a blind fucking panic, but he felt none of that. The terrifying, malicious bastard John had had so many nightmares of was barely recognizable, sitting before him, arms tethered with a multitude of IV lines, a nasal cannula looped under his nose and around his ears, dark pools of color smudged under his sunken eyes like bruises. He looked a lot like John had thought he had when he had first come out of _his_ coma: weak and weary. But judging by the nurse, pissed off by some callous, off-color comment John was sure Braswell had just made to her, he was still as big a heartless asshole as he had been before.

Recognition dawned across Braswell’s face when he looked over and saw John standing in the doorway. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl and his hands fisted at his sides, jangling the handcuffs that were attaching him to the side rails of the bed.

From the corner of his eye John saw Dorian go rigid, a carefully checked rage rolling off of him, but John didn’t even flinch. He stepped across the room, Dorian right at his side, falling into cop-mode easily.

“Trenton Braswell? We have a few questions for you,” he said gruffly.

Braswell looked up at them as they stood beside the bed, wrists straining against his cuffs. “Back for another round, _Omega_?” he spat the words out, then suddenly fell into a harsh, wheezing cough. 

Dorian took a half step forward, his body tense. “We ask the questions, you answer ‘em. Got it?” His voice was pitched low, brooking no argument.

Braswell only rasped out a laugh. “Or you’re gonna what? You can’t lay a fuckin’ hand on me. I know my rights.”

“Until you give us the names of all your victims and your accomplice, you don’t have any rights,” John barked out, anger beginning to flare in his chest.

“Accomplice? The fuck are you goin’ on about?” Braswell choked out after he calmed from another coughing fit.

John settled his hands on the side rails of the bed, leaning his face in close to Braswell’s. “Your _accomplice_ ,” he growled, “At the warehouse you said _she_. ‘ _She_ says I gotta keep you alive’. Now, tell me who your goddamn accomplice is.” John was almost surprised by his own words. He had hardly remembered any of what Braswell had told him in that godforsaken warehouse, and he had no damn idea what made him think of that particular piece of information now.

He straightened back from the bed, but still kept his hands clasped to the rail, when Braswell hacked out another cough, this one dribbling a thin line of blood down his chin.

Braswell turned his head to the side, wiping his mouth on his shoulder, painting his hospital gown with a bright red smear. He looked back at John and Dorian, a darkly amused glint in his eye. “How ‘bout this? I tell you jack shit and then you can go ahead and fuck yourself?”

He twisted his hand up in a blurring motion, grasping John roughly by the wrist before he even realized what was happening, yanking him forward with a brutal force, even with his hand cuffed to the bed. John was immediately thrown off balance, falling forward toward Braswell just close enough that the Alpha could run his nose up the side of John’s neck, scenting him in nauseating huff.

“Found a mate after all, didja?” he whispered cruelly in John’s ear as John recoiled back, disgusted.

Dorian immediately reached out, removing Braswell’s hand from John’s wrist with a bone-crunching flick. Braswell howled out in pain as Dorian gently pushed John back a step. He bent over the hospital bed, grasping Braswell by the front of his hospital gown, pulling him up, their faces so close their noses almost touched. Dorian’s lips were pulled back in a snarl, a deep rolling growl reverberating out through his chest.

“You touch John again and I will kill you.”

Braswell’s eyes widened.

Dorian’s fists tightened in the fabric of the hospital gown. “You give us those names and you give them to us right now.”

Braswell nodded briskly and Dorian settled him back against the bed. Another hacking cough wracked through him, a fine spray of bloodied spittle coating his chin again.

Dorian’s hands were still fisted in Braswell’s gown until he had caught his breath enough to rasp out, “Okay, okay!”

Braswell pulled in whistling, panting breaths between coughs. “I kept all the names on an encrypted tera-disc. It’s in locker 215 down at the transit station.”

He settled back against the pillows, his chest heaving, his eyes slipping closed. The monitors beside the bed went crazy, beeping shrilly.

John rushed forward, pulling Dorian back from Braswell as the room suddenly flooded with hospital staff. He moved up beside the bed as best he could with the crowd of doctors and nurses crushing in around him, leaning as close to Braswell’s face as he could.

“Your accomplice, Braswell. Who is she?” John asked frantically.

Braswell’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, his gaze locking onto John’s.

“Anna,” he rasped out, his eyes sliding shut again.

John’s heart tumbled numbly in his chest and stumbled back as the room suddenly filled with the piercing, steady note of a flat-line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter within one week? I'm on fire you guys! :D I just wanted to give you all a big THANK YOU for being so totally awesome! I've gotten a lot of votes so far to decide the gender of John and Dorian's baby (which is going to be revealed in the next chapter!!!) I'm going to leave voting open for a little bit longer, so if you haven't voted yet, you have until next week (Thursday March 13th) to let me know if you think they should have a BOY or GIRL! Thanks to everyone who has voted and commented and bookmarked and kudo-ed :3 You guys are amazing and I love each and every one of you! ^_^ <3


	12. Sparking Embers

The car ride back to the apartment after leaving the hospital was short and filled with a tense silence due solely to the fact that John’s mind was a million fucking miles away, driven to distraction by the overwhelming flurry of unanswerable questions chasing through his brain. If Dorian had said anything, John wouldn't have even heard him for as mentally disconnected he was as he drove them back home.

_Anna._

John never thought he would have had to hear that fucking name again. He had thought that when she had disappeared after the raid that she had gotten what use she could have out of him, had thought that maybe she had assumed that she had killed him that day. Had she only just learned he was still alive? Because if she _had_ known all along, why hadn't she come after him sooner? And why had she needed him in the first place? To what end? To gain department intel? Or was it more than that? Had she ever revealed her true intentions to him? He couldn't remember anymore thanks to that last concussive exploder that had come so close to taking his life.

The doctors that had put him back together had considered him one lucky bastard that he had even _survived_ the attack and had only counted his lost memories as collateral damage. But John knew they weren’t truly lost and had actually gained some of them back through the help of the Recollectionist, though much of the time surrounding the sabotaged raid still remained shrouded in mystery.

John felt a sudden burning desire to reclaim those memories back to finally understand Anna’s involvement with the Insyndicate, to finally understand what she had thought she’d be able to get from him back then, and maybe gain insight into what she wanted to take from him _now_ , when she had already taken almost everything he had to give. 

John was suddenly pulled from his frenzied thoughts by the feeling of Dorian’s hand on his shoulder, the contact sending a cool quiver flushing up his neck in a wide stripe. He blinked and looked around, realizing he was standing in the kitchen, an unopened jar of peanut butter in his hand.

He glanced at Dorian standing beside him. His eyes were the troubled gray of a storming sea and the electric blue flashing down his temple, the lightening, as he looked at John.

John set the peanut butter down, pulling his gaze away from Dorian. “I need to see the Recollectionist again,” he said softly.

Dorian was quiet for a moment, a tic bunching in his jaw. “I can’t let you do that, John.”

John turned toward him, crossing his arms across his chest, a swell of indignation, already flaring hotly from hearing Anna’s name after all this time, burned sourly in his stomach at Dorian’s audacity.

“I really thought we were past all this Alpha bullshit, Dorian. Us being bonded doesn’t give you the right to order me around like I’m your obedient little Omega.”

Dorian held his gaze. “I didn’t mean it like that, John-”

“I don’t really care how you meant it, Dorian. I _need_ to get those missing pieces of my memory back, dammit. And the only way that’s gonna happen is if I visit the Recollectionist.”

Fire flashed in Dorian’s eyes. “I’m not talking to you as your Alpha right now, John. I’m talking to you as your partner, your _mate_. I cannot allow you to put your life, and the life of our unborn _child_ , at risk by doing this.” He stabbed his finger down on the kitchen counter, emphasizing his point. “You nearly died the last time you went there. Or have you forgotten that already?”

John settled his hands on his hips, taken aback. “You heard Braswell, Dorian! Anna was involved with him somehow. He had every intention of killing me, until she ordered him to stand down. She needs me for some reason, and I’m pretty fucking sure she’s not going to stop until she gets what she wants _._ ”

“Then we will deal with that issue when it presents itself, John. Anna has yet to come forward since your rescue from the warehouse. And I think, if she was going to make a move, she would have done so by now.”

He stepped closer, bringing his hands up, rubbing them gently up and down John’s upper arms. A warm, reassurance curled through John’s body, traveling from his mark outward, wrapping soothingly around his middle.

“It is not worth the risk, John. Those memories are gone, maybe forever. But it doesn’t matter anymore. There is no way you can expect to move forward if you are constantly looking behind you.”

John was quiet for a moment, considering his words, before huffing out a heavy, relenting sigh. “Goddamn it, Dorian. I hate when you’re right.”

The broad grin Dorian gave him was nearly blinding.

//////////////////

The passing of the next five weeks found the leaves on the trees lining the streets changing into their brightly riotous Fall colors as the first week of September was ushered in. It also found John taking Dorian’s words to heart, for the most part. He hadn’t been back to the Recollectionist, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been researching Anna and her involvement with the Insyndicate with his downtime at work, which, now that Sandra had put him on light duty desk detail, was more often than not. But it wasn’t like he had been able to find much information anyways –the Insyndicate kept their secrets well. 

He sat back in his office chair, stretching his back and scrubbing at his eyes, willing away the tension headache that had started to form from staring at the computer for so long.

A light fluttering rolled in his stomach and he smiled, settling back in his seat, rubbing a hand across his slightly rounded belly. He had felt the baby moving for about a week now, and after his initial confusion about what it actually was, had come to feel more and more connected to the little life growing inside him with each tiny movement.

He ran a hand across his stomach again, amazed at how much his belly had grown, even in just the last five weeks. He knew he still had a long way to go, being just barely halfway through his pregnancy, but he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t surprised at how big he felt already.

He had begrudgingly accepted the maternity cargos Dorian had given him when his bump had first appeared, but now felt eternally grateful for the amazingly stretchy fabric that felt so goddamn comfortable.

He had gone out and bought three more pairs.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be leaving in just a few minutes,” he muttered lightheartedly in response to another flutter. “You’re so damn impatient.” _Just like Dorian,_ he thought to himself.

He smiled again then glanced over, seeing Valerie watching him from her desk, a repressed grin curving at her lips.

John pushed back from his computer and turned his chair toward her as she made her way over to him. She leaned against his desk, brown eyes sparkling warmly.

“Ready for your ultrasound?” she asked excitedly.

Valerie had been utterly delighted when John had first mentioned to her that he was expecting and had been an immeasurable workplace support that John hadn’t realized he needed, but was ceaselessly appreciative for.

John nodded in response to her question. “Heading over there after my shift’s done.”

She shifted eagerly on the desk, her grin widening. “What are you hoping for? A boy or girl?”

John glanced down to his belly, then back up at her. “Don’t really care, as long as it’s healthy.”

Valerie rolled her eyes. “That’s what _every_ one says. C’mon, you can tell me.”

John chuckled. “Really! Boy, girl, Alpha, Omega, Beta, don’t care! We’ll be happy with any combination.”

Valerie’s smile faltered and John suddenly realized his slip up. “Me. _I’ll_ be happy.”

He was supposed to be a single parent, for all intents and purposes, had even made up some bullshit story about getting knocked up and marked by some one-night-stand Alpha that had taken off and left him in the lurch, but John somehow kept forgetting that.

A warm blush crept up his cheeks and he was all too relieved when Dorian entered the large, open room and made his way toward them, taking the focus off John as he stepped up to his desk.

Detective Matthew Riley, the rookie cop Dorian had been partnered with when John was assigned deskwork, ambled alongside him. John would be a damn liar if he said he didn’t feel a sharp point of jealousy lodge in his chest when he watched them head out of the office together for their field assignments every morning, even knowing it wasn’t a permanent arrangement.

“How’re you feeling today, Detective Kennex?” Riley asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

John had to stop himself from scowling at him. Fresh faced, enthusiastic, still wet behind the ears; John couldn’t really pinpoint what the hell irritated him so much about the rookie, but he was sure it wasn’t the fact that he had been partnered with his bonded mate.

He glanced at his watch, seeing it was the end of his shift, and pushed to his feet slowly. “I was just leaving, actually.”

Valerie beamed at him. “Good luck with everything!”

He gave her a small smile, then glanced at Dorian, who responded with a smile of his own. “The appointment’s not for another hour, but I’ll let you know how everything went tomorrow.”

Riley’s gaze flitted between John and Valerie and he opened his mouth, about to speak. John quieted him with a withering stare. Valerie laughed lightly and made her way back to her desk.

Dorian watched the entire exchange with unmasked amusement. Blue lines suddenly scrawled over his cheek and his smile fell away.

“Detective Riley, I just received notification that there was a body found at a private residence in Terrafore Heights. PD is requesting our assistance.”

John’s heart skipped a beat and he frowned. Dorian was supposed to come to this appointment _with_ him- they were supposed to find out together, damnit.

Dorian looked over at him as Riley nodded earnestly and made his way to the exit. “I doubt this will take long,” he said, his voice pitched so low John had to bend his head down to hear. “Go on home and I’ll meet you there. If it gets close to our appointment time and I’m still not done, just go ahead and drive to the doctor’s office, and I’ll see you there. I’m sure you’ll still be in the waiting room by the time I arrive.” He offered John an apologetic smile.

John kept on frowning, but nodded anyways. What else could he do? And besides, Dorian was right; the wait at the clinic had already proven to be an eternity at times.

He made his way home shortly after that, threw together a sandwich and settled on the couch, restless and not really watching what he had put up on the tv. He kept a close eye on the time and when he only had thirty minutes before he was supposed to be at the doctor’s office and Dorian _still_ wasn’t home, he grabbed up his mobile, pounding out a text.

[text] you gonna be done soon?

It was only a few seconds before Dorian replied back.

[text] I don’t think it’ll be too much longer, but you should head over to the clinic now and at least check in. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

John scowled at the phone and stood up from the couch, shoving it in his pocket roughly. He knew it wasn’t really Dorian’s fault, having to work late –a DRN had to go where their partner did, he just didn’t have anyone else to direct his anger at.

He stomped across the apartment, throwing on a jacket, and glancing out the window as he stepped to the door. The gray clouds that had been building all day finally opened up, letting loose the beginnings of a downpour. The dark weather only mirrored John’s dark mood and he flipped his middle finger at the rain pelting the windows as he left the apartment.

He made a quick dash his cruiser once he was outside, but still managed to end up soaking wet by the time he settled in the driver’s seat. He raked a hand through his dampened hair, trying to shake out as much moisture as he could before turning the engine over and starting on his way to the clinic, grumbling out a long list of complaints under his breath.

He hadn’t even been on the road fifteen minutes before the engine stalled out.

He rolled to a stop on a nearly deserted side street as rain continued to fall, pelting the cruiser’s metal roof with hollow pings. John grasped the steering wheel tightly, coming to the end of his patience.

“Goddamn fucking piece of shit!” he shouted.

An agitated flutter rolled in his stomach in response to his outburst and he quickly settled a hand against his belly. “Sorry, kid. I just really didn’t want to be late for this appointment.”

He glanced at his watch and noticed it had gone as dead as the cruiser’s engine. He looked at it curiously for a moment then pulled out his cell, intending to call Dorian and tell him to find a way to come pick him up, but even his phone was completely shut off.

_What the fuck is going on here?_

He looked out the car window, peering through the rain, trying to see exactly where he was. An old call-hut, like those they had originally built when holo-phones were first making their appearances around town, sat huddled between a closed Pawnshop and a boarded up Head Shop. The green light blinking on the door let John know it was empty at the moment. He just hoped he had enough credits on his bit stick to make a call.

He checked to make sure his pistol was still securely holstered under his jacket, an ingrained habit, and got out of the car.

Dashing across the street, trying to dodge puddles, he made his way into the call-hut, looking around after he had closed and locked the door. A waist-high desk sat bolted into the wall at the far end of the moderately sized room, topped with a small, ancient looking holo-phone base. John had had to use a call-hut a handful of other times, but still never got over the size of the damn things; big enough to hold at least five people. Why five people would need to use the phone all at the same time was a mystery John felt like he’d never solve.

He grunted out a bemused laugh and he shook his head as he stepped over to desk, his sopping jacket dripping down onto the carpet as he went.

The sound of a familiar female voice suddenly filled the room.

“Hello, John.”

_Anna?_ John swore his heart damn near stopped beating.

He spun around so fast he almost lost his balance and had to brace his hand on the nearest wall to steady himself as he turned toward the voice.

Sure as shit, it was her, standing at the far end of the room, dressed much like she had been the day of the raid; black pants, gray jacket, hair tied back.

She smiled at him sweetly.

John glanced at the door, his heart pounding wildly, seeing it was still locked. How the hell had she gotten in without him even hearing her? He looked up, seeing the holographic scanner embedded in the ceiling. So, he was only sharing the room with the projection of her. Still didn’t do much to stop his stomach from twisting nauseously.

He pulled in deep, steadying breaths through flared nostrils, doing his best not to slip into a panic episode. The baby fluttered in response and he settled a hand against the side of his belly.

“What the fuck do you want, Anna?” he asked hoarsely.

She blinked her dark eyes, all innocence. “Well, that’s not a very nice way to greet someone,” she said, pouting.

“Say your piece and leave me alone.”

She smiled again, that smile he had seen upon waking with her beside him in bed, back when things had seemed so goddamn perfect. Christ, had he really been so delusional that he had believed that he could have trusted her in any way?

“You already know what I want, John. Just give it to me and I’ll never bother you again.” She splayed her hands out, palms up.

He stared at her. “No, I _don’t_ know, Anna. My leg wasn’t the only thing you took. I can hardly remember a damn thing from that day and back almost three months before _then_.” He crossed his arms across his chest, narrowing his eyes, “So there _really_ isn’t anything else I can give you.”

The demure look on Anna’s face was wiped away, immediately replaced by a wrath John had never seen on her before.

“You’re lying,” she hissed.

He barked out a laugh. “I saw a Recollectionist, Anna. The few memories I _do_ have from that day are only there because I had them pulled out.”

Anna was silent, the fury thrumming through her body evident even through the holographic projection. She stalked closer to him, a snarl curling at her top lip.

It took every last ounce of John’s self-control not to take an acquiescing step back, because even though he knew she wasn’t really in the room with him, the deepest, basest part of his Omega dynamic screamed for him to submit to her, to duck his head down and show his obedience.

She stopped in front of him, a warning growl rumbling out of her. “Tell me where the Immobilux-45 is being stored, John!” she screamed, her face contorting with rage.

John swallowed, but stood his ground. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he said, surprised at how even his voice sounded for how fucking hard his heart was slamming against his ribcage.

Anna sneered at him and John knew if she really had been standing before him, there was no question that she would have lunged at him.

She instead took a step back, smoothing a lock of hair behind her ear, her face falling into the overly sweet, composed mask she had perfected through years of practice.

She smiled viciously and let her gaze travel over his body, lingering at his rounded belly before moving up to lock her eyes with his. “I’ve got ways of getting what I want, John. You should know that by now.”

John had heard enough. He pulled his pistol from its holster and leveled it at the holographic projector in one quick movement.

“Fuck you, Anna,” he bit out tersely, pulling the trigger.

The projector disintegrated under the force of the bullet, instantly disrupting the picture of Anna. The joy John felt at not having to see her face anymore was quickly overshadowed by the deafening report of the gunshot in the small room. He groaned and held his hands up over his painfully ringing ears, backing against a wall behind him.

He sank down to the floor slowly as the ringing subsided, drawing his knees up as close as his protruding belly would allow.

An angry flutter rolled in his stomach and he huffed out a shaky sigh, blinking back the threat of tears prickling hotly at the back of his eyes. “Sorry kiddo. That bitch just doesn’t know when to shut up.”

The door to the call-hut suddenly smashed open and John jerked his head up, reaching for his pistol again.

Dorian was standing in the doorway, electric lines tracing a furious pattern over his face, rain running off him in streaming rivulets. He saw John sitting on the floor and rushed over, dropping to his knees before him.

“John, are you okay?” he asked frantically, settling his hands on John’s knees, his eyes darting over John’s body, searching for any injuries he might have.

John scrubbed away a tear that slipped down his cheek. “I’m fine.”

“What happened? I’ve been trying to contact you for the last twenty-five minutes. When I didn’t get a response, I tracked your locater here. I heard the gunshot right when I pulled up.”

“Anna was here.”

Dorian whipped his head around the small room.

John nodded toward the destroyed projector in the ceiling and Dorian seemed to accept that as answer enough.

“What did she want?”

John shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. I think she pulsed the cruiser with an EMP, knowing I’d head in here to use the phone. She wanted to know were I’m keeping the ‘Immobilux-45’?” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “I don’t even know what the fuck that is.”

Blue lines flitted up Dorian’s temple. “That’s not in my database either.”

John stilled. “Wait. Did you just say you’ve been trying to get a hold of me for twenty-five minutes?”

Dorian nodded, his brows drawing together.

John groaned, disappointment coursing through him. “Goddamnit! We missed the appointment.” Frustrated tears welled in his eyes and he pressed his mouth into a thin line to keep his bottom lip from trembling. Christ, could anything go _right_ today?

Dorian was quiet for a moment. “I think I can do it, John.”

John looked at him, blinking back the unshed tears blurring his vision. “Do what?”

“Check to see if it’s a boy or girl.”

“You can do that?”

He gave John a sideways grin. “I think so. Let me try.”

John smiled tentatively. “Okay.”

He crossed his legs in front of himself and rucked his shirt up over his belly.

Dorian’s grin widened and he reached out, settling his hands on John’ s stomach.

The touch was warm and sent a pleasant tingle flushing from John’s middle, down to his toes, then back up to linger at the mark on his neck.

Dorian’s focus was drawn back to John’s belly, blue lines flashing slowly.

He looked back up to John, his wide smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Can you tell what it is?” John asked breathlessly.

Dorian nodded excitedly. “It’s a boy, John. We’re having a boy.” His voice shook with emotion.

John couldn’t hold back the ecstatic tears that began running down his cheeks. “Really?”

Dorian nodded again, pulling his hands from John’s stomach to frame his face. He wiped his tears away with his thumbs and pressed a trembling kiss to John’s lips.

He pulled back after a moment, letting John catch his breath.

John chuckled lightly, his heart full to bursting. “Guess we have to start thinking about names now, huh?”

“I’ve got one in mind,” Dorian said, sitting back on his haunches, helping John pull his shirt back down over his rounded belly.

“Oh, yeah?”

Dorian smiled. “How about Reginald? We’ll use your middle name!”

John’s mouth immediately turned down into a frown. “You have got to be fuckin’ kidding me.”  

 

 

                                                                               


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A boy!! ^_^ It was a really, really close race! The grand total, after tallying the votes from all the comments and also the asks I received on Tumblr, was 17 to 14! I want to extend a big, big THANK YOU to everyone who voted, as well as everyone who has commented, kudo-ed, and bookmarked this story. I am in awe at the amount of support I've gotten from everybody. You guys are incredible and I love each and everyone of you! <3 Hope you guys liked the Jorian fan art I drew up. It's my gift to you for being so very awesome :)


	13. Relentless Smolder

All in all, it had taken just about a week for John and Dorian to stumble upon a name that fit perfectly. They had been sitting on the couch together after a particularly stressful day down at the precinct, Doiran back in the soft-cushioned corner, John settled between his splayed legs, his back resting up against Dorian’s chest. Dorian had been watching tv, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, the other loose around John’s middle, his hand absently tracing slow circles over his rounded belly. John had been looking at baby names on his data tablet, his mind wandering back to his confrontation with Anna, scrolling through the names distractedly, not really focusing on the options flipping past.

It seemed that Anna _had_ had a specific goal in mind for getting close to John after all. But for as hard as he tried to remember what exactly Immobilux-45 was and why the fuck she had thought he might have access to it, the only memories he could drag up from the time surrounding the raid were the ones he had already received from his near lethal visits to the Recollectionist. He had, for the last few days at work, tried to pull up information on the Department’s archives, but was denied access to the apparently classified data. He had tried to get penciled in for a meeting with Maldonado to see if she could grant him access to the records, or shed a little light on the damn subject, but had yet to even speak to her for how busy the whole precinct seemed to be lately.

Dorian’s hand suddenly stilled on John’s belly. “What was that one you just passed?” he asked over John’s shoulder.

John blinked, his eyes focusing on the tablet again. His finger stopped scrolling down the smooth surface. “Which one?”

Dorian moved his hand from John’s stomach, reaching around to the tablet. He moved the page back up to the C names. “This one,” he said, tapping the screen.

The name Caiden suddenly appeared in large letters, followed by its origins and meaning.

John felt his breath hitch in his chest.

Dorian shifted forward, settling his chin on John’s shoulder. “It’s a mix of both our names,” he said, the words vibrating from his throat into John’s skin, even under his shirt, his mark lighting up instantaneously in a cool rush.

“Is it?” he asked breathlessly, already knowing he had fallen in love with it.

Dorian brought a finger up, scrawling _John Kennex_ and _Dorian_ onto the screen in rounded, even letters. John suddenly realized it was the first time he’d seen Dorian write out his name and the recognition immediately painted his mark in a warm stripe.

Dorian’s finger hovered over their names, then began circling letters. John could clearly picture blue lines flashing over his face, though he couldn’t see him, as he went about explaining: “The ‘en’ at the end from K[en]nex, and the ‘d’ and ‘i’ and ‘a’ from [D]or[ia]n.”

“And what about the ‘C’?” John asked.

Dorian’s finger came up again, writing out _Crux_ , the last name of the man the DRNs had been modeled after, the one who had been the extension of Dorian that made him everything he was, the base that had lent the blocks that Dorian had used to build himself into what he was now; _lover, bonded mate, expectant father._

John smiled at the perfection of it. “Does have a certain ring to it.”

Dorian nodded against his shoulder, his cheek brushing John’s. “Caiden Kennex,” he said softly, “And for the middle name-” he began.

“Please don’t say Reginald,” John said, chuckling wearily.

“I wasn’t going to!” Dorian protested.

John grinned at the slightly wounded pitch to Dorian’s voice. “Okay then, what is it?”

Dorian was quiet a moment. “What do you think about Edward? After your father?”

John’s heart contracted almost painfully. “Really?”

He turned his head to the side, catching Dorian’s smile out of the corner of his eye.

Dorian slipped out from behind him, making his way to the floor, and pulling John to face him as he knelt on the hardwood. He settled his hands on John’s knees. “So, what do you think? Does it fit?”

John grinned, blinking back the tears crowding his eyes, his voice hoarse. “More than you know.”

Damn, if he hadn’t felt like crying more these last few weeks than any other time in his life. He tugged Dorian up by his shirt front, slotting their lips together roughly in a heated kiss that quickly chased his tears away.

His hunger for Dorian, which had been nearly insatiable in his first trimester, had begun to lag the last few weeks; he had been so tired on some days it was all he could do to stay awake long enough to get settled under the covers in their bed before falling asleep at night.

But now, in this moment, with Dorian nipping lightly at his bottom lip, with the warmth of his skin seeping into John's hands where they were still fisted into his soft cotton shirt, with his mark flaring into a searing burn, it felt like that voracious arousal had never waned.

His cock, suddenly achingly erect, strained against his maternity cargos and he groaned weakly when Dorian brushed against the bulge as he moved closer to John, pulling in a long, deep taste of him.

But soon it wasn't enough, not nearly.

Their lips broke contact when John settled back against the couch, fighting to catch his breath, tugging Dorian after him.

But Dorian resisted, the material of his shirt, still fisted in John's hand, stretched tautly before him.

Dorian's brows drew together, a worried expression flashing across his face right alongside those blue lines. "I do not want to hurt you or the baby, John," he said in response to John's questioning look.

John huffed out a breathless laugh. "You won't hurt us, Dorian." The relentless arousal in his gut tightened and he tried pulling Dorian forward again.

Still, Dorian wouldn't budge. He instead smiled, a mischievous glint sparking in his eye.

"You can't just leave me hanging like this," John said gruffly, biting back the plea that threatened to whine from his lips. _Please, Dorian, please just fuck me._

A roguish smile twitched at Dorian's lips and he deftly plucked John's fist from his shirt. "I wasn't planning to."

He reached forward, rucking up John's shirt over his belly enough to get his fingers under the soft waistband of his pants. John sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of Dorian's fingers grazing his skin. He hooked them under the material and began tugging them down slowly.

John felt his heart spasm in his chest.

He lifted his hips off the couch at Dorian's gentle urging and Dorian slipped the cargos down his legs, chucking them over his shoulder with a near predatory grin.

A heady rush of moisture slicked John's entrance and he felt his cock bob up toward his stomach though he could barely see it for the roundness of his belly. Desire arrowed straight to his groin when Dorian pushed his legs apart, settling himself between his spread thighs. He licked his lips slowly, his head descending down, but John quickly stopped him with a trembling hand on his shoulder.

"Dorian, wait," he panted, hyper-aware of the throb of his painfully hard dick curving mere inches from Dorian's mouth.

John would be lying if he said he hadn't ever been curious how it would feel to have his cock enveloped by warm, eager lips, but it always seemed to be something Alphas only ever experienced. Sure, he had heard whispers of Betas and even other Omegas receiving such attentions, but John himself had never been serviced in such a way.

For as willful and independent John had always projected himself to be, and even for all the new-found control Dorian had encouraged in him in their time spent in bed, he still felt, in some deep, hidden part of himself, that he didn't deserve such deferential treatment from Dorian.

Dorian only looked up at him from his spot on the floor, a burst of blue flashing down his temple.

“Doing this for you does not make me any less, John. Just like you would not be any less if you did it for me,” he said, reading John’s goddamn mind yet again. “Our dynamics do not define us. How would I even know that if you hadn't taught me?”

An encouraging smile played at his lips as he continued to kneel before him. “Let me, John,” he broached softly, “Please, let me give you this.”

John could only nod his assent. How could he even try to deny him when he had asked so earnestly?

A look of adoration, so sincere it made John’s heart skip a beat, flashed across Dorian’s face a fraction of a second before he dipped his head down to swirl his tongue around the blunt, swollen tip of John’s cock.

The sensation was so amazingly foreign that John’s entire body jerked in response, his hips driving up involuntarily.

Dorian’s mouth descended down John’s length, gathering up the rough thrust, humming happily at the loud groan that pushed past John’s lips. The resultant vibrations of that damnable hum sent shock waves crashing violently through all of John’s nerve endings, and all of a sudden the sight of Dorian’s head bobbing down and the hot, slick feel of his mouth enveloping him was like a sensory overload, almost too much to experience all at once.

John squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back against the couch, his hands fisting into the cushions beneath him as if he could anchor himself down somehow.

Dorian’s mouth slid back up John’s cock, his tongue dragging along the underside of his hardened flesh as he went, nearly pulling off completely before sucking him down again, as close to the coarse hair that ringed the base as he could with John’s belly in the way.

John gasped for breath and felt his balls tighten up close to his body as Dorian continued to work his mouth up and down his dick in a tortuous slide of lips and tongue and wet heat.

Dorian must have sensed John’s approaching orgasm through their shared bond and gently tugged him further down the couch, easing John’s ass partway off  the cushions, without breaking the rhythm of his mouth. His left hand gripped lightly at John’s right hip, his right hand making its way to the slicked cleft of John’s ass.

John cried out in surprise and helpless ecstasy when he felt Dorian’s finger slip inside him. He clenched down involuntarily when Dorian inserted another, pumping the digits in alternate time to the strokes of his mouth.

Impending release tightened low down in John’s gut like a tautly wound bowstring, and when Dorian crooked his fingers and deliberately drug his knuckles over the deeply hidden nerves of his prostate, John finally snapped.

His fingers scabbled for Dorian’s shoulders, trying to give him at least the courtesy of some kind of warning.

“Dorian, please! I’m- I’m…” he heaved the words out in harsh pants and tried pulling his cock back from Dorian’s mouth when he felt his orgasm start to rush forward.

Dorian only tightened his grip on John’s hip, rumbling out a low growl, pushing his mouth so far down John’s dick that when his release was brutally ripped out of him, his thick spend spurted hotly against the back of Dorian’s throat where the head of his cock butted up against it.

John roared out with the merciless force of the sensations pounding through him, his back arching up off the couch slightly, his heart pounding wildly, his mark burning up his neck in searing flash that wamed every last inch of his body.

He cracked open his eyes after the aftershocks had begun to fade and his rapid breathing had started to slow, looking down at Dorian. He watched, riveted, as Dorian pulled off his cock with a lurid slurp.

Dorian settled back, his Adam's’ apple bobbing visibly as he swallowed. John felt his softening, oversensitized cock give a desperate twitch at the sight, a tingling shudder wracking through him.

Dorian smiled, dragging the back of his hand across his lips, shiny with a mixture of spit and come. He shifted on his knees and John felt a keen understanding flush through him.

He scrambled to sit up. “Let me return the favor,” he said, his voice raw and rough.

Dorian shook his head sheepishly, leaning back a bit, and glancing down to his crotch. A dark wet spot stained the front of his jeans. “No need,” he said, a sideways smile curving his mouth.

John’s heart melted at the dimple that smile caused and there was suddenly too much fucking space between them. He straightened on the couch, leaning forward quickly and framing Dorian’s face with his hands. Electric blue coursed under his touch and he pulled Dorian forward, smashing their lips together in a hectic press.

A muffled moan sifted through Dorian’s mouth and John ate up the sound greedily. Their tongues slipped against each other in a frenetic slide and John could taste the saltiness of his own spend in the movement.

Dorian’s hands came up, skimming over John’s shoulders to the back of his neck, tangling in the short strands of hair at the nape. He tugged gently, pulling back from the kiss and resting his forehead against John’s.

John took the opportunity to try to catch his breath, his thumbs rubbing back and forth over Dorian’s cheeks from where his hands still cupped his face.

Dorian’s fingers threaded through John’s hair slowly, almost reverently. “I love you, John,” he whispered.

John’s heart tumbled in his chest and he immediately stilled.

Of all the words he could have imagined Dorian saying to him, those were never ones he thought he deserved to hear.

They were mates, bound by an unbreakable bond, they were partners in every sense of the word, they were expecting a _child_ together for Christ’s sake. But he was a broken man, with not even enough fucking pieces left to be put back together in any semblance of whole. He was gruff and obstinate and loud and a goddamn _mess_ even on his best days. So, why the hell did Dorian think that John even _remotely_ deserved to be on the receiving end of words like that?

And so, because he knew better than to expect he’d ever be worthy of anything as redeeming as Dorian’s love, he said nothing in return.

It was, quite literally, the first time in John Kennex’s life when he did not have one goddamn thing to say.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it was such an extended period of time between chapters there, guys. Life kinda just got in the way these last two weeks. I wanted to give you all a nice, long , super-steamy chapter for being so patient with me ^_^ Thanks, as always, for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks! Your support is what gives me the motivation to keep this story going!  
> xoxo, Lopsided Whiskey Grin


	14. Dousing the flame

A week later, John found himself standing in the breakroom at work, staring absently at a steaming mug of coffee in his hand as he stirred in a packet of sugar. He continued to look at it, or rather look _through_ it, as he absently added another packet, thinking back over the last week, wincing inwardly at his own callousness. He knew he hadn’t had any other choice but to distance himself a bit from Dorian-- throwing up walls around his heart was an ingrained task that John had perfected at a young age as a way to protect the more fragile parts of himself. And he hadn’t done it to hurt Dorian; he had actually thought, perhaps in his own stupid way, that it was to spare Dorian from falling in love with a man who so clearly did not deserve it, who would only inevitably let him down.

But damn if it hadn’t nearly killed John to pull back, to retreat behind those walls, to see the goddamn unbearable _heartbreak_ on Dorian’s face. John knew he was doing it out of a painful necessity to protect him. But how could he put that reasoning into words?

He had mulled over it for days, knowing Dorian deserved some sort of explanation, but for as harshly self-deprecating as John could be, he found it was still hard to admit his shortcomings out loud. There was just so many of them, so many fucking things about himself that he knew were undesirable, that he felt that if he told Dorian, the look of disgust and disappointment he _knew_ Dorian would give him would surely break him in an irreparable way.

To Dorian’s credit, he hadn’t pushed John into saying anything he didn’t want to--had, in fact, withdrawn almost as much as John had; something that frightened John nearly as much as anything else. But hadn’t that been his damn point in all of it? To show Dorian that he seemed to break almost every single goddamn thing he touched? Including Dorian’s heart, even though he would try so very hard not to?

“Sugar?”

John looked up from his coffee mug at the sound of Valerie’s voice, blinking the world back into focus.

She stood in front of him in the small breakroom, canting her head to the side, awaiting an answer.

John had no damn idea what she had even been saying. “What?”

A smile curved her lips. “You always use that much sugar?” she asked, nodding toward his cup.

John arched a brow curiously. “Yeah, why?” He brought the mug up, taking a sip, and immediately pulled it back with a grimace.

He whipped his head to the side and saw a pile of at least seven empty sugar packets on the counter beside him. Jesus Christ, how could his brain have been so far away?

He scowled at his own distractedness and quickly dumped the too-sweet coffee down the sink.

Grumbling out a string of curses under his breath, he grabbed up a clean mug.

Valerie made her way over to him, picking up a cup of her own and settling a hip against the counter.

“Is everything okay, John?” she asked softly, accepting the coffee pot he passed to her after he had filled his own mug.

He nodded with a frown, pouring in the two packets of sugar he _usually_ took in his coffee into the dark,  aromatic liquid. “Yeah, fine.”

Valerie pursed her lips a moment before bringing up her cup and studying him over the rim as she took a sip.

John settled back against the counter, taking a drink of his own coffee, doing his best to tamp down the hurt and fear and frustration he was feeling, being careful not to let any of it show.

He took a deep pull of the rich morning blend, letting its warmth seep through him as he looked out at the empty breakroom blankly, taking it as a poor substitute for the lingering and comforting warmth his mark wrapped him in every time Dorian settled even the barest hint of a touch against his skin; touches that had not come often enough this last week with the subtle but undeniable rift that had begun to form between them.

John drug in a shallow, shaky breath, feeling the chill of hopelessness beginning to settle in, shuddering with the knowledge that there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

He glanced over at Valerie standing beside him, catching her looking at him.

She quickly dropped her eyes down to the mug in her hands, quiet a moment before glancing back up at him again, her delicate brows drawn together in concern.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she broached gently. “It just seems like something’s been bothering you this week.”

John looked back out at the empty tables and chairs in front of him, clearing his throat. “Don’t really want to talk about it,” he answered in a warning tone, bringing his mug up, swallowing down the last gulp of his coffee.

He saw Valerie nod slowly out of the corner of his eye and he turned back toward the sink, setting his empty cup down in the stainless steel basin with a hollow thunk.

A flutter rolled in his stomach in response to the sound and he settled a soothing hand against the side of his belly. Caiden had started to become more and more sensitive to noise lately, letting John know when he heard something he didn’t like with tiny kicks and jabs.

Valerie moved closer, settling her empty mug in the sink gently. “He moving around in there?” she asked, a tone of fascination taking the place of the concern that had been there only moments earlier.

John nodded with a small smile, happy for the interruption, hoping it would distract Valerie from worrying anymore about him.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust that she’d be a good sympathetic listening ear, it was that he was afraid she’d be _too_ good and he’d end up letting down his guard just enough to start spouting off all the issues that had been weighing so heavily on his heart, effectively blowing the cover he and Dorian had worked so hard to construct in order to convince everyone that they were nothing more than completely platonic partners, merely a detective and his DRN unit. And so he was more than a little fucking relieved when Valerie focused her attentions on his baby bump rather than his damn-near devastating problems.

She looked up at him, smiling and holding her hands out towards him. “Can I feel?” she asked, her voice soft but eager.

“Sure,” he said with a small chuckle. At least she asked permission first; he had been rubbed and touched by so many random fucking people since his belly began showing that it felt like just a waste of energy to protest it anymore.

Caiden went about elbowing John as Valerie settled her palms on his belly. He moved her hands to where she’d be able to feel the movements best through the soft, thin cotton of his black long sleeve shirt.

She looked up at him, wonder plain on her face, and John couldn’t help the smile that slipped across his lips.

She glanced back down to his stomach as Caiden gave a few more sharp jabs. “I want to throw you a baby shower,” she said suddenly.

“What? No, you don’t have to do that,” John laughed out, completely taken by surprise.

She let her hands fall away from his belly when Caiden started to quiet down. “But I want to,” she said simply. “It’ll be a good way for you guys to get everything you need before the baby comes.”

John let out a nervous chuckle at what she said and moved back a step. “Well, it’s just me,” he said, straightening his shirt though it didn’t need straightening, “and I’ve gotten a lot of stuff together already.” It was a bald faced fucking lie though, because, in fact, he and Dorian hadn’t even decided where they were even going to set up a nursery in their apartment.

Valerie was quiet for a moment, her dark eyes studying him closely. “I know it’s Dorian’s, John.”

John’s adrenaline instantly spiked, flushing his body with a dizzying rush of trepidation. He leaned back against the counter behind him, crossing his arms up over his belly casually. “You know what is Dorian’s, Val?” he asked with a purposefully confused sounding chuckle.

She held his gaze steadily, with a staggering expression of kindness and understanding softening her features. She reached out, settling a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I know that it’s Dorian’s baby,” she said softly.

John's heart plummeted and he brought up a trembling hand, rubbing his palm against the mark on his neck in a motion that was quickly becoming an unnoticed habit. “Is it that obvious?” he asked, huffing out a sad laugh, dropping his gaze to the floor, not even close to being able to meet Valerie’s eyes.

She rubbed her hand on his shoulder. “No, John, it’s not. Nobody suspects a thing.”

John exhaled a shaky breath and blinked back the tears blurring his vision. Of course she’d be the one to figure it out; she was a goddamn detective after all. True, they all were, but Valerie was a Chrome, with an IQ so far off the charts that it probably didn’t even start to peak until it hit the stratosphere.

He swallowed thickly, his heart pounding so hard it ached, certain that his world was going to come crashing down around him any fucking second. He could picture it clearly: Valerie would go straight to Maldonado, tell her that John was somehow carrying an android’s child, and then an investigation would be launched into why a department issue DRN had human DNA, which would most definitely lead to Dorian being shut down and dismantled permanently. And then John really _would_ be a single parent, devastatingly heartbroken, most likely jobless, with the only person that had ever truly cared about him, his bonded mate, gone forever.

It was too painful to even think about.

He turned toward Valerie, scrubbing at a tear that slipped down his stubbled cheek. A sudden swell of desperation cut through him viciously, and even though John was rarely ever known to beg, he did then-- begged with every last ounce of that Omega submissiveness that he always kept hidden away.  

“Please, Valerie. Please, don’t tell anyone. We’re trying to figure things out right now, and I just...I just…” A sob hitched in his chest and he let his hands fall limply to his sides.

Tender compassion swept across her face and she reached out for his hands, pulling them up over her heart. “I would never do that to you, John. You or Dorian. I only said it because I wanted to help. I didn’t mean…” She shook her head, looking away for a moment, “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”

She released his hands and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I care about you guys, I really do. And when I saw how upset you seemed this week...I just wanted you to know that I can help you with whatever you need. And if that means keeping your secret for you, then I’ll do that too.”

John sighed out a shaky, pent up breath, nodding slowly. “Thank you,” was all he could think of to say, but they were two of the most sincere words he had ever spoken.

She smiled softly in response. “Do you think you’ll ever tell Captain Maldonado?” she asked quietly, “I think she’d be very understanding of the situation.”

John tensed immediately and he shook his head. “No, I can’t do that. I can’t risk Dorian that way, and I don’t want to put Sandra in a position where she would have to make that call.” He carded a hand through his hair. _Christ, how had this become such a huge fucking mess?_

Valerie nodded her understanding and was just opening her mouth to speak when Richard popped his head into the breakroom.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Kennex,” he said gruffly, a rigid frown tugging at his mouth.

John ran a hand over his eyes, brushing a few stray tears from his eyes before Richard could see them. “Why? What is it?”

He glanced over at Valerie before looking back at John, his customary frown still in place. “Maldonado wants to see you in her office. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys have been having a fantastic week so far! And I hope you enjoyed this newest chapter! Thank you forever and forever for all your amazing support ^_^ You never cease to make me smile!   
> Oh, and on a personal note, because I am just so SO excited and want to tell everyone I know: I get to go to my very first comic con this summer and KARL URBAN IS GOING TO BE ONE OF THE SPECIAL CELEBRITY GUESTS. I AM SO HAPPY I COULD DIE!!!! AAAAHHHHHH!!! *flies away on a bright sunshiny cloud of excitement* :D <3


	15. Up In Smoke

John made his way to Maldonado’s office slowly, heart thudding heavily in his chest as he went, dread suffusing through his entire body with each step. Had Sandra found out about the true nature of his and Dorian’s relationship? Had she finally seen through his lies about whose child he was carrying? He had no doubt that if she had, the consequences would be swift and very fucking severe.

He stopped before the Captain’s office, pulling in a deep, albeit shaky breath, trying to steel himself for the worst, unconsciously glancing around the bustling desk area beside him, looking for Dorian even though he knew he was already out in the field with Reily. He was absolutely terrified that the brief kiss they had shared in John’s cruiser when they had left for work this morning would be the last physical contact they would have.

He shook the thought away quickly and turned back toward Maldonado’s office, pushing open the glass door on a heavy exhale.

Sandra looked up as soon as he walked in, a warm smile curving her mouth. It helped to settle his nerves somewhat, but his stomach still twisted anxiously as he moved to sit down across the desk from her.

He maneuvered his ass into the chair gingerly, barely successful in biting back the groan in his throat at the immediate relief from being off his feet. But, John, never being one to back down from a challenge, even one as potentially life-altering as the one he found himself in now, squared his shoulders and sat up as straight as he could; he’d face this head on with dignity, no matter what happened.

They sat looking at each other for a long moment-- Sandra an expectant smile on her face, John rigid and waiting for the hammer to fall.

Maldonado sat forward in her chair, folding her hands on the desk before her. “You requested a meeting with me, John. What is it you needed to talk to me about?”

To say that John was caught completely by surprise would have been an understatement.

An indescribable relief washed through him in a numbing rush, and all he could do was blink at her. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again in some kind of bizarre parody of a fish, struggling to find his words.

Sandra’s smile began to fade and she glanced to a small digital clock beside her hand.

“Im-- Immobilux-45!” he suddenly stammered out, spurred to action by the reason he had requested this goddamn meeting in the first place.

She arched a brow and settled back in her chair, steepling her fingers in front of her mouth.

John moved forward on the seat of his chair, spreading his knees wide to allow more room for his belly. “Anna contacted me two weeks ago, demanding to know the location of the Immobilux-45 and I have no damn idea in the hell what she was talking about.”

Sandra settled her hands down in her lap, but held his gaze silently while John continued.

“She thought I had access to it, and maybe I did at some point, but I can’t remember anymore, not after the raid. I don’t even have authorization to view the archives on it.”

Maldonado nodded, almost imperceptibly. “And you’re thinking that we need to amp up the security wherever it’s stored in case she finds out where it is and comes after it?”

“Exactly.” He settled back in his chair slightly, rubbing a hand absently across the side of his stomach.

Sandra was quiet a moment. “I never thought we’d hear from her again after she disappeared.” She shook her head in disbelief.

John huffed out a humorless laugh. “Me more than anyone,” he said grimly.

She nodded in sympathy and glanced over to her computer, typing at the keyboard with sure, swift strokes before looking back at him. “I put in an order for three more MX’s to be stationed down at the Chemical Depot where they’re storing the Immobilux, effective immediately. And I granted you access to the archived study files so you’re in the loop. Maybe reading up on it will help to trigger some of those lost memories, in a _safer_ way.” She gave him a pointed look, showing him she knew damn well how dangerous his visits to the Recollectionist had been.

He swallowed but resisted the urge to duck his head down. “Maybe it will,” he replied softly.

She gave a faint nod of agreement and settled back in her chair again. “Our main goal at this point is going to be keeping the Immobilux out of Anna’s, _and_ the Insyndicate’s, hands. It is definitely not something that should be messed with. It’s really terrible stuff, John.”

John’s curiosity peaked higher than ever and his fingers fucking _itched_ to get into those damn archive files.

“Alright then, I’ll leave you to it,” she said, and John moved to get up from his chair. “Unless there’s anything else we need to talk about?”

She glanced up from her computer screen, centering her approachable grey eyes on his, and for one wild, reckless moment John wanted to tell her everything, wanted to pour his fucking heart out. There was no one in the precinct that understood him better than Sandra, besides Dorian, no one that had backed him in his original drive to make detective as wholeheartedly as his Captain.

But he knew the risks of such a confession and bit back the words just in time.

He cleared his throat and leveraged himself out of his chair. “Nope. That should do it,” he said with a placating grin after gaining his feet.

He exited her office, breathing out a relieved sigh, and made his way to his desk amid the cluster in the recessed floor. And sure enough, when he logged onto his computer and tried opening the archived files under _Immobilux-45_ , he was granted access.

He glanced up when Rudy bustled by him, mini-screwdriver in hand, grumbling under his breath about malfunctioning androids and making a beeline to an MX across the room, but quickly looked back down when the files on his computer screen finished loading.

He opened the first file and began reading, drinking in the information greedily.

_Confidential Scientific Case Study 01445-N76:_

_Experimentation on the effects of Immobilux-45 for use in situations where crowd control is necessary in cases of riot under Department discretion to prevent loss of life and property._

_Immobilux-45, as it will hereto referred to, being a combination of etorphine and acepromazine maleate tranquilizer synthesized into aerosol for maximum efficacy in administering to large crowds. Early tests using injectable form are promising in subduing single subjects quickly and in a non-lethal manner._

John’s eyes scanned the rest of the page, ghosting over a number of chemical equations and highly scientific word he’d never be able to understand. He clicked to the next page and immediately felt his heart constrict painfully.

_June 15, 2045- Committee Board to oversee creation and utilization of Immobilux-45 to consist of three (3) Senior Department Detectives and four (4) Department Officers:_

_-Detective John Reginald Kennex_

_-Detective Martin Andrew Pellham_

_-Detective Samuel Joshua Wils…_

The rest of the names began blurring into each other and John stared blankly at the screen.

He had been on a committee to oversee the creation of all this?  The fact that he had absolutely no fucking recollection of it combined with the date marking three months _prior_ to the raid, was overshadowed only by the list of names; all men he himself had led into the raid on the Insyndicate headquarters, all men that were lost that day when the raid had turned into a cluster-fuck of an ambush.

John swallowed thickly. Was it just a coincidence that all the people involved with the Committee were present at the raid that day? Or had Anna orchestrated it to happen that way, tracking John’s secret plans the entire time?

He shook his head numbly and clicked to the next page.

_September 27, 2045- Termination of Immobilux-45 study effective **immediately**. While administration of Immobilux-45 in injectable form proved successful in immobilizing single test subjects, Immobilux-45 in its final stage as a canister contained aerosol form was overly volatile with irreversible and lethal side effects for 100% of the test subject population. Analgesic potency of the synthetic combination of etorphine and acepromazine maleate could not be reduced so as to remain within viable levels._

_Side effect for subjects was unpredicted severe cardiopulmonary depression leading to death within 42.7 seconds of release of canister in a controlled, enclosed environment._

_Immediate termination of Study 01445-N76 as mandated by Senior Department Detective John R. Kennex:_

_“Due to the unforeseen and tragic events of this study, the Board members, myself included, are shutting down the project, effective immediately. The results of the experimentation went far beyond the non-lethal immobilization outcome we were expecting. Any and all Immobilux-45 product will be stored and systematically destroyed once the chemical reaches a more stable half-life in the Municipal Chemical Depot at the Northern Quadrant in a classified location within the building."_

John stared unblinking at the computer screen, reading back over words he never even remembered speaking.

“She’s going to weaponize it,” he murmured. Because of course that would be the only reason she would want it. A veritable gas cloud that could kill potentially thousands in an instant if the wind was right? The Insyndicate would be fucking unstoppable if they got their hands on it.

John quickly snapped his focus back to his surroundings when he heard someone approach behind him and abruptly closed the archived files. He rubbed a hand over his suddenly bleary eyes and turned his chair to the side just in time to see Detective Jackson Stanley stepping up to his desk. Stanley had been transferred to their office from Precinct 178 last week, so it was a goddamn wonder that John had even remembered his name.

The new transfer smiled warmly as he came to a stop in front of John still sitting in his office chair, rapping his knuckles lightly on the desktop as some sort of greeting, John supposed.

“Detective Kennex,” he said brightly, smoothing a hand over his neatly combed brown hair.

John looked up at him, eyebrow arched questioningly. “Can I help you with something, Stanley? I’m kind of busy right now.”

The detective smiled again and crouched down in front of John’s chair so that they were nearly at the same eye level. He glanced around and John did too, noticing that nobody was even looking in their direction.

Jackson looked up at him from his spot on the floor, his dark hazel eyes shining with a palpable nervous excitement, and John found he was genuinely curious as to what he was about to say.

“John, I was wondering if you would like to have a cup of coffee with me after your shift is over tonight?”

John let out a surprised chuckle at the proposal. “Oh, I uh. No, thank you. I uh, I’m flattered, I really am. But now’s not the best time.”

Jackson’s smile never faltered, damn that Alpha over-confidence, and he brought a hand up, settling it lightly over John’s where it rested on his knee. “Are you sure? Maybe another night? We could go for dinner.”

John shook his head and was about to pluck Jackson’s hand off his and tell him to politely go fuck himself when he heard a low, warning growl erupt behind him. And suddenly Dorian was right there, grabbing Jackson up by the back of his collar and hauling him to his feet roughly.

John was frozen in shock and could only watch as Jackson turned on his heel with a snarl curling at his lip, and a deep growl reverberating out of his throat as he faced Dorian in a blatant display of Alpha dominance.

A spark of blue flashed down Dorian’s cheek, highlighting the fire in his eyes a fraction of a second before he brought his fist up to lay a heavy punch across Jackson’s tightly clenched jaw.

It was enough to finally get John to his feet.

He tried pushing the two apart and could hear shouts from his coworkers as they rushed forward to help. Jackson swung for Dorian and John stepped back, gaining just enough distance for Jackson’s fist to narrowly miss his rounded belly.

Rudy suddenly appeared behind Dorian, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling back roughly. “Oi!” he cried out angrily.

Everybody stopped, even Jackson and Dorian.

Rudy looked around quickly, eyes wide as fucking saucers. He chuckled nervously and released Dorian slowly, then grasped him by his shoulder. “Looks like somebody’s not running on a full charge!” he said loud enough for everyone to hear.

John’s heart beat wildly in his chest, his mark lighting up cooly when Dorian looked over at him, his eyebrows drawn together in an unspoken mortified apology.

Rudy ushered Dorian out of the room, saying he’d take him down to the lab and get him back in working order in a loud, overly bright voice.

The crowd around John dispersed rapidly, leaving him standing alone with Jackson, who was rubbing at his already bruising jaw, his eyes full of a confused, unrequited fury.

John turned away from him without any type of explanation, holding a steadying hand against his belly, following after Rudy and Dorian as quickly as he was able. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday, everyone! Just one more day until the weekend! Woo Hoo! Hope everyone enjoys a couple days off (if you get weekends off)! I know I will! It's my birthday on Monday so I get to go out for a special dinner ^_^ yay! (it's the big 3-0 yikes O.o ) Anyways, I hope everyone liked the chapter! <3


	16. Stoking the Fire

It was not long before John fell behind in his effort to keep up with Rudy and Dorian as they made their way quickly to the robotics lab. The extra weight he’d put on through the first twenty weeks of his pregnancy did not do much to keep him light on his feet; his days as the White Cheetah seemed like only a distant fucking memory now.

He made his way through the large metal doors just as they closed behind Dorian and Rudy, shoving them back open as he stormed into the room breathlessly, holding a steadying hand against his belly when he felt Caiden roll uneasily.

Dorian slumped down on a stool across the room, burying his face in his hands, and Rudy, seeing John advancing forward down the short metal staircase, his features hardened by the frown on his face, bustled into the backroom, leaving the two alone.

“What the hell was that?” John demanded, pointing back in the general direction they had just come.

Dorian kept his face down in his hands. “I don’t know,” he murmured.

John came to a stop before the stool, thrusting his hands down on his hips. “You do realize how important it is for us to keep a low profile about all this, don’t you?” He motioned to the space between them.

Dorian dropped his hands down to his lap and looked up slowly, a single line of blue tracking down his cheek. “I understand that, John. But the stronger your pregnancy hormones get, the harder it is for me to restrain myself. My instinct to protect you is more intense than ever.” He glanced away, his face awash in a pained hopelessness, before looking back to his mate. “He was touching you, John. And I could tell, even from across the room, that you were uncomfortable.”

John furrowed his brow, his hands tightening into fists on his hips. “I have to deal with people all damn day that make me uncomfortable, Dorian! Hell, half the fucking people in this office irritate the shit out of me on a daily basis! Jackson fucking Stanley was nowhere _close_ to being more than I could handle.”

Dorian looked up at him, his face a flurry of emotions John could not define.

John continued, rubbing a hand across his forehead, exasperated. “You _have_ to be more careful, Dorian. You can’t just jump in the middle of things, even if you think I need protecting, because a.) I’m pretty damn good at standing up for myself and b.) people are going to figure out pretty fucking quick what’s going on here, and they will not _hesitate_ to take you away from me.”

Dorian looked taken aback for a moment before his eyes narrowed into steel gray slits. “I wasn’t ‘jumping in the middle of things’, John,” he said, motioning air quotes as he gained his feet, coming to stand a fraction of an inch from John’s protruding belly. “It is my _job_ to protect you- It was the sole purpose of my creation! So it is under my own discretion to decide how much protection you need!” His voice was heated and loud, bordering on a shout.

A sudden swell of anger burned through John and he brought his face forward, his stomach brushing against Dorian’s. “Not when it could put our relationship in jeopardy!”

Electric blue fire flashed down Dorian’s temple. “What relationship, John?” he barked out incredulously. “How can you even _start_ to call this a relationship, when all you’re doing is pushing me away? I can accept that you don’t love me, but you don’t have to go on pretending that our bond _alone_ will be enough to hold this all together!” he cried, his voice shaking with emotion. “I love you, John! I have loved you from the very _second_ I laid my eyes on you right here in this room. And I will continue to love you, every single day for an _eternity_ , even if those feelings are never reciprocated. But please just tell me if I am a burden to you so I at least know where I stand!”

John clenched his jaw tightly, feeling his control of the situation slip further and further from his grasp. “I have _never_ thought of you as a burden,” he ground out roughly, feeling his heart begin to fragment into hundreds of thousands of tiny painful shards.

Dorian took a step back, knocking into the stool behind him. It scraped loudly on the tiled floor. “Then what is it, John?” he shouted, flinging his arms wide. “What is it about me that is so undesirable?”

It was suddenly too much for John to bear anymore; the devastated look on Dorian’s face, the heart-wrenching guilt cutting so relentlessly at him. It was like one last drop of water being poured into an overfilled dam, obliterating the already strained retaining wall.  “It’s me, alright? _I’m_ the one that’s undesirable!" he roared, heart heavy with a lifetime of shame. “ _I’m_ the Omega that’s never fit in with his own goddamn dynamic! _I’m_ the bastard that survived when all of his partners died in a raid that he organized _himself_! _I’m_ the asshole that only ever ends up hurting the people closest to him! Okay?” His chest heaved with the effort to drag in oxygen and angry tears pricked holty at the back of his eyes. “I have _nothing_ to offer you, Dorian. I am damaged-fucking-goods, in case you haven’t realized that yet, and there is no part of me, not even one goddamn piece, that deserves your love!”

He dropped his hands limply to his sides, shocked and ashamed at his own admission. He had never wanted to confess any of that to Dorian, _ever_. But he knew that there was no way to take it back now.

Dorian blinked rapidly in surprise, but made no move to step forward. And for one agonizing moment John thought that maybe Dorian finally understood what an absolutely amazing wreck he really was.

Silence stretched between them, but then Dorian’s face softened, his slate blue eyes full of tender compassion. “John, I do not love you because I think you are perfect, I love you because I know you are not. I love _all_ the pieces of you, especially those that you think are broken, because they have made you the man you are today; a fighter in every sense of the word, a firm defender of your independence, even in the face of _years_ of adversity, a mate that is not only loyal, but fiercely passionate, and in more ways than I can even begin to comprehend.” He closed the distance between them in one stride, looking up at John with a face that was open and unimaginably earnest. “You _are_ deserving, John, you always have been. Can’t you see that?”

John shook his head, scrubbing at a tear that slipped down his cheek, his heart aching with a fullness that, even now, he was afraid to believe he had any right to feel- not after a lifetime of convincing himself that he never would.

Dorian brought a hand up, thumbing away another tear as it tracked down John’s cheek. “Then I will just have to try harder to convince you.”

He stretched forward, careful not to press into John’s belly, and brought his mouth up, settling his lips against John’s in a kiss that curled in a warm reassurance through his entire body.

A sob hitched in John’s chest as Dorian’s mouth moved against his and he raised a hand, brushing trembling fingertips against his mate’s smooth jaw tentatively, hesitating before sinking deeper into the kiss, accepting it as well as he was able with the internal battle his hopeful side waged against his darker, self-defeating side, crushing him with the weight of it all.

A hollow, ringing crash suddenly resounded through the lab and John and Dorian jerked back from each other, looking over to see Rudy standing across the room, two steel gaskets at his feet.

He looked up from the metal pieces, his large eyes red-rimmed and shiny with unshed tears.

“I- I lost my grip,” he stammered, bending down to pick them up. He straightened quickly, sniffling and running a hand under his nose.  

John and Dorian exchanged a glance. “You okay?” John asked hoarsely, rubbing a palm against the side of his neck.

“Yes, fine,” Rudy replied shakily.

“Are you sure?” Dorian called after him as he moved to head into the backroom again.

Rudy turned back toward them, looking down at the gaskets in his hands before dragging his eyes up and smiling. “You two are my very best friends and I am so happy that I was the one that brought you together. I mean, after Captain Maldonado gave me the order to partner you, of course,” he blushed and cleared his throat, motioning toward them with the gaskets, “What I mean to say is that I, uh, know it can be hard enough these days to find a compatible mate, much less someone who accepts you unconditionally, warts and all, and I hope that one day I can be lucky enough to find somebody who adores me as much as you two adore each other.”

John swallowed thickly, glancing over at Dorian before looking back to Rudy.

“But,” he continued, clinking the metal pieces in his hands together idly, “I know that things can sometimes be difficult, especially when there are a lot of issues you have to deal with all at once. So, I wanted to tell you that you will have one less thing to worry about.” His eyes darted between John and Dorian.

John stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to elaborate. “Yes?” he asked on an exhale after Rudy made no attempt to explain.

Rudy blinked owlishly before snapping back to attention. “Yes, right. Dorian, you asked me a few days ago if there was a way to safely remove the human DNA that you carry so as to become a legal DRN, and I wanted to let you know, to let both of you know, that I believe there is a way I can do it by creating an exact artificial replica of Dorian’s pheromones.”

Dorian smiled broadly and John did too, feeling his heart lighten a bit. If Rudy could do that, it would certainly take the strain off of having to constantly worry that Dorian would be taken away from him and decommissioned permanently.

“However,” Rudy went on, “It will take me some time to come up with a solid plan before I can implement it, and it will not be an easy process.”

John grunted, bemused. “It’s not like we’re unaccustomed to the hard way here, Rudy.”

Rudy glanced down at his shoes for a moment, nodding slowly, before looking back up at them. “There is a chance, it’s a very slim chance mind you, because this has never been done before, that your mark will be erased.”

John’s stomach twisted nauseously.

“And if that happens, there will be no way to get it back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone has had a good week! Mine has been pretty decent :) I've gotta say, turning 30 wasn't as scary as I thought it was going to be ^_^ Thanks, as always, for all your comments, kudos and bookmarks! You guys are so amazing <3   
> Oh, and I thought I'd share with you... I was listening to this song called 'All of Me' by John Legend, and it just hit me right in the Jorian feels, especially with everything that has been happening in these last few chapters. I kept imagining Dorian singing it to John (because we all know how much he likes to sing, don't we?) and got so emotional I had to sit down and take a few calming breaths lol :3 Let me know what you think, if you have a chance to listen to it!   
> xoxo, Lopsided Whiskey Grin


	17. Reignite

John stood frozen by shock, his heart beating out a wildly uneven staccato in his chest, his worst fear finally realized: A broken bond, a mark permanently erased.

He licked his lips nervously, fighting against the urge to bolt from the room. His mind flashed back to his father, to the unspeakable grief and utter heartbreak that had been etched into his face from the day his bonded mate, John’s mother, had died, remaining there almost every day up until his own passing nearly thirty years later.

So lost in his sorrow-filled thoughts was John that he barely registered Dorian coming to stand beside him and slip a hand in his, squeezing comfortingly. The contact sent a calming reassurance gliding through him, starting from his mark and spreading outward.

John blinked his eyes rapidly, forcibly pulling his focus away from the near consuming hurt spiraling through him, centering it instead on the grounding feel of Dorian’s hand encompassing his.

“How slim of a chance are we talking about here, Rudy?” Dorian asked. “One percent? Two?”  
Rudy shrugged sadly, glancing down to the metal gaskets he still held in his hands before looking up again. “I can’t really say with any certainty because, like I’ve already said, this hasn’t ever been attempted before.”

John squeezed Dorian’s hand tightly.

Rudy continued, looking at them both solemnly. “I will do everything in my power to make sure that your mark is not erased, but because I will have to remove the organic pheromone center from Dorian before it can be replaced with the artificial one, there is a chance that the amount of time, even if it is only a fraction of a second, will be too great to keep the bond intact. There is just no way to be sure what will happen until we actually do it.”

John felt Dorian’s eyes on him and he turned to look at him, swallowing against a throat that suddenly felt very dry. They stared at each other for a long moment before Dorian finally asked the question that had been plaguing John’s mind since Rudy had first explained the risk.

“Should we go through with this?”

John pulled his eyes down to their entwined fingers, unable to look at the wary uncertainty written on Dorian’s face when he felt it so goddamn acutely in his own heart.  

What were their options, really? Leaving Dorian intact and taking the gamble that no matter how careful they’d be, there would always be that overshadowing threat that someone would discover the secret Dorian was harboring? Which only brought to a daunting light the saddening years of secrecy they faced if that was the path they chose.

But on the other hand? They ran the risk of destroying a bond that had been painstakingly built with innumerable tears and hardships but also understanding and laughter and love, potentially leaving both parties irreparably devastated. Though, who was to say any of that would really be taken away when the mark wasn’t broken because one of them had died? They were literally walking on completely untrodden fucking ground with the both of them surviving through the possible dissolution of a bond. It had never happened before- _ever_.

But if the bond remained, if they got through this ordeal whole, what then? True, they wouldn’t have to worry anymore about Dorian being decommissioned, but how comfortable would John be with broadcasting their relationship out to the public? It wouldn’t be the first time someone would be open about their pairing with a partner of the non-human variety-- John had heard stories of the more fanatical sexbot owners doing such things; but Dorian wasn’t a sexbot and was, in many ways, more human than some people John interacted with everyday. And what did such hesitancy say about John? Did it mean he was ashamed of their coupling on some level? Did it mean he really _did_ care what people thought about him, after a fucking _lifetime_ of being indifferent to that kind of shit?

The choices, the questions-- all of it weighed heavily on John’s heart, crowding his brain with a deafening insistence, threatening to drive him out of his goddamn mind. It was enough to make him want to just sit down and cry.

But then a spark of clarity, near blinding in its intensity, struck John hard enough to drown out all his fears. He was back in the kitchen of his apartment with Dorian, warm summer sunlight spilling in through the large plate-glass windows in the living room, back before his baby bump had begun to show, a feeling of conviction twining around his heart with an undeniable suredness as he looked down at Dorian standing a handbreadth before him. The words he had spoken then were as clear and true as the day he had uttered them, _“My parents were bonded because it was worth it. Because no matter what could have happened, no matter how much or how little time they had together, that hurt in the end was worth it. This, every single damn second, is worth it.”_

John looked up from his hand, still clasped in Dorian’s, centering his gaze on those slate-blue eyes. “It’s worth it, Dorian,” he said, his voice breaking over his mate’s name. “No matter what happens, it’s worth it.”

Recognition flashed across Dorian’s face in a pulse of electric blue and he nodded his understanding, the connection between them running so deep no other words were needed to be spoken.

They both looked back to Rudy and John cleared his throat. “How long with it take for you to make the artificial pheromone?” he asked

Rudy glanced away for a moment, clearly doing the math in his head, before looking down at his shoes. “It is going to be a more intricate process than when I manufactured the block originally. I’ll have to find a reliable method to replicate and synthesize-”

John cut off the ramblings he knew were just about to start, “How long, Rudy? Days? Weeks?” he asked gently.

Rudy looked up from his feet, swallowing visibly. “I’d say four months at the most.”

John felt Dorian’s fingers grip his a little tighter. He quickly calculated how far along he’d be and found it was right around his 37th week, just three weeks from his February 2nd due date. He glanced to Dorian standing beside him, and rubbed a hand across his belly absently. “Think we can keep up our little charade until January?”

Dorian turned his head, looking at him sadly. “What choice do we have?”

John gave him a grim smile. _Took the words right out of my damn mouth_ , he thought to himself.

They left Rudy's lab shortly thereafter, heading back up to the office, trudging through the rest of the work day with Dorian trying to avoid as many curious glances as possible and John laughing off the scuffle from that morning by telling everybody how much better Jackson had held up against a low-charge-Dorian than Richard had. Everyone but Detectives Paul and Stanley had thought it was pretty damn funny.

That night after their shift was over, John found himself standing on the kitchen at home, staring at an unopened jar of peanut butter in his hand, not really hungry but wanting to eat anyway. He heard Dorian shuffling around back in the general area of the bathroom, followed shortly by the sound of rushing water. John cocked his head to the side, listening intently, before his curiosity got the better of him and he set the peanut butter on the countertop, making his way back down the hallway that lead to the bathroom. The mingling scents of jasmine and lavender teased at his nostrils as he got closer.

When he came to a stop in the doorway, he couldn't help the smile that spread across his lips at what he saw. Dorian was kneeling beside the tub, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, pouring nearly an entire bottle of bubble bath under the running tap. Mountains of bubbles frothed under a thin cloud of fragrant steam.

Dorian turned off the water after a moment, glancing back over his shoulder when he noticed John standing in the doorway.

John crossed his arms over his belly and leaned against the jamb, trying to conceal a smirk. "Well I'm glad _somebody's_ getting use out of that thing," he said, nodding toward the oversized tub. John couldn't remember ever using the damn thing except for when he showered.

Dorian smiled and dipped a finger in the water. Blue lines flashed up his temple and he pulled his hand back, drying it on a small hand towel from the side of the tub. "I'm happy you think so because I just got it to the perfect temperature for you."

John's smirk faltered for a moment. "Wait. That's for me?" he asked skeptically, pointing at the bath.

Dorian nodded and stood, padding barefoot across the tiled floor to John. "Remember when I told you I would have to try harder to convince you that you deserve my love?"

John nodded slowly, keeping his arms crossed loosely over his stomach as Dorian came to stand before him.

"Well, this is just one way I'm going to do that," he said, shrugging.

John chuckled lightly. "By making me take a bubble bath?" He couldn't remember the last time he had actually taken one-- hell, probably when he was still in elementary school.

Dorian smiled again, the curve of it pressing a dimple up on the left side of his mouth and John felt his mark flush in a cool tingle up his neck. "By doing things for you," Dorian corrected softly. "By showing you how much you mean to me."

He reached his hands out and grabbed the hem of John's long sleeve shirt, beginning to tug it up. John sighed resignedly but uncrossed his arms and raised them up so Dorian could pull the thin sweater off over his head.

Dorian's gaze lingered on his belly for a moment before he knelt down and started untying John's boots. John braced a hand on Dorian's hunched shoulder and stepped out of his shoes and socks gingerly with Dorian's help. He sucked in a sharp breath when he felt Dorian press a quick kiss to his stomach, his fingers grazing John’s skin as he began pulling his pants down. His mark instantly washed into a wide warm stripe and he felt his cock begin to harden with the fleeting contact.

Dorian made a barely audible hum of approval before he straightened and began tugging John gently toward the tub.

John followed obligingly, only because the idea of being surrounded by a bath full of warm, relaxing water was starting to sound pretty damn appealing after being on his feet all fucking day.

Dorian helped him step over the edge of the tub and he settled into the water slowly. He groaned softly at the instantly calming effect and felt Caiden give a happy kick in agreement.

Dorian looked down at him, grinning, a pleased light dancing in his eyes. He quickly began undressing.

John glanced up at him, an eyebrow arched questioningly. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m getting in with you,” Dorian replied simply. “I’m going to wash you.”

John looked at him evenly. “I’m pretty sure I’m capable of washing myself, Dorian,” he said flatly.

Dorian paused, his fingers stilling in undoing the button at his cargos, his smile falling away slowly.

John’s lip twitched with a poorly repressed grin. “I’m only givin’ you a hard time,” he said with a low chuckle, flicking water at him playfully.

A relieved smile curved Dorian’s mouth.

“Get your ass in here before I change my mind,” John said in a mock growl.

He moved forward in the warm water when Dorian jumped to comply, shucking his pants and stepping into the tub.

Dorian quickly settled his back against the curved tub wall and reached for a sponge as John moved to relax against Dorian’s chest. The bubbly water in the oversized tub just barely covered his rounded belly and he brought his hands up, wetting his chest.

Dorian shifted behind him, spreading his legs wide on either side of John to give him more room and he dunked the sponge, saturating it with warm water and fragrant bubbles before he brought it up and started rubbing it gently down John’s arms.

John let his eyes slip closed, melting into the feeling of being taken care of. “I could get used to this,” he moaned.

Dorian chuckled and John felt the rumble of it against his back. “That’s the idea,” he said softly, pressing a tender kiss to John’s shoulder.

A comfortable silence settled between them as Dorian continued to wash him, reaching around to stroke the sponge across John’s chest.

“So, four months?” Dorian asked quietly.

John sighed and patted at a clump of bubbles in front of him. “Yeah, we’ll have at least that long. And then when Rudy gets in your head… who knows?” He shrugged dejectedly. The movement sent ripples sloshing around them.

“There’s not a 100% certainty that our bond will be erased, John,” Dorian reminded him gently.

“There’s not a 100% certainty that it _won’t_ be,” John countered.

Dorian was quiet a moment, setting the sponge aside and bringing his arms around John’s middle loosely. “Then we’ll just have to make the most of the time we _do_ have,” he whispered against the side of John’s neck.

A pleasant tingle wracked through John and he shivered, nodding his agreement. Because wasn’t that what he had reminded himself of earlier this morning in Rudy’s lab? That it was worth it? That no matter how much or how little time they had, that it was worth it?

Dorian shifted behind him, his slick chest gliding against John’s back. He ran one hand up John’s torso to his neck, pulling gently on his jaw and turning John’s head to the side just enough so that he could press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. His other hand slid under the water, drifting over his rounded belly and traveling further south.

John groaned when he felt Dorian’s hand wrap around his softened cock, working it to a full aching hardness with just a few pulls. He settled back against Dorian, hips thrusting up into Dorian’s hand slowly, his breath beginning to fall from his lips in harsh pants. Water lapped up against his body warmly and he groaned again when he felt Dorian’s hardened cock sliding against the cleft of his ass, the stiff length moving under him in a near frictionless slide between his cheeks.

Dorian moaned roughly behind him, increasing the pace of the strokes he twisted up and down John’s dick, caressing his free hand over John’s chest, rubbing lightly over John’s hardened nipples. John gasped at how oversensitized they had become and brought his arm up, dripping with sudsy water, reaching back to graze his fingers over the side of Dorian’s neck and jaw.

Dorian mouthed another kiss to John’s shoulder, continuing to drive John fucking crazy with the teasing slide of his cock between his ass cheeks.

John fought to drag in panting breaths, arching his back and reaching far enough over his shoulder to tangle his fingers in Dorian’s coarse hair. “Goddamnit Dorian,” he ground out roughly, “I need to feel you inside me.”

Dorian’s hand slowed its strokes over his cock. “The baby, John,” he muttered hesitantly.

John shook his head brusquely. “It’ll be fine,” he panted, aching to be stretched open by his mate. “Just don’t go too deep.”

He ground his ass against Dorian’s dick enticingly.

Dorian moaned. “Okay,” he conceded, “but I’ll need both hands.”

John nodded quickly, bringing his hand down to cover his own cock when Dorian moved to grip John’s hips, using the buoyancy of the water to hold him up.

John felt Dorian’s cock spring upward through the water from where it had been wedged under his ass and he quickened the pulls of his fist over his own hardened length.

Dorian’s fingers tightened on John’s hips and he lowered him down steadily, settling the thick head of his cock right up against John’s entrance.

John’s breath hitched in his chest when Dorian tugged him down carefully, breaching him the most deliciously torturous penetration.

A helpless whine sifted through John’s lips and his head fell back against Dorian’s shoulder behind him. He continued to work his cock, feeling Dorian thrust in about halfway before withdrawing from John completely.

He pushed back in with a little less hesitancy, the hard ridge at the crown of his dick stretching John’s rim with an aching perfection before slipping up inside him easily, seemingly more comfortable with how deep he wanted to go, pulling John halfway down again.

They quickly fell into a beautiful rhythm, twin moans echoing off the walls of the bathroom, and John soon felt the pressure of orgasm tighten low in his gut. Dorian’s chest contracted against his back and John knew his mate was close too.

Dorian’s lips were suddenly against the soft cup of John’s ear, his voice low and insistent when he said, “Come with me, John.”

And John did, shouting out Dorian’s name as his spend shot out of him into the water, tremors of completion trembling through him violently. His ass clenched involuntarily around Dorian’s cock imbedded halfway inside him, pushing Dorian over the edge almost simultaneously. He groaned loudly, his fingers digging into John’s hips, holding him still as his dick pulsed out his release.

Dorian pulled out gently and John sagged back against him, his breath still labored and rough. He smiled contentedly when Dorian pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek.

“I _definitely_ think I could get used to this,” John said huskily, feeling his heart slow to its normal rate.

Dorian chuckled. “Then I think we’re going to go through a lot of bubble bath.” He stretched his leg forward, toeing up the drain switch, releasing the cooling water.

John reached forward, turning the spigot on again and grabbing up a full bottle of bubble bath from the side of the tub. He glanced back at Dorian as he dumped it out under the running water that began refilling the bathtub. “I think I could live with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday, everyone! Hope you guys enjoyed that fun little bathtub scene! (I know I sure did ;) lol) Thanks forever and for always for all your amazing support, whether in the form of kudos or comments or bookmarks, or even just taking time to read the story at all! You guys keep a happy and amazed smile on my face all day ^_^ <3


	18. Flare

The blazingly bright colors of Fall quickly transitioned their way toward the beginnings of a bitterly cold and overcast Winter, the weeks that passed flying by much faster than John would have liked. But it didn’t stop him and Dorian from making the most of that time like they had agreed they would.

Their days were spent sneaking furtive and meaningful glances at each other at the office when Dorian wasn’t out in the field and John receiving ‘anonymous’ deliveries of his favorite donuts when he was. Their nights were always spent together, either cuddled on the couch watching movies (a majority of which were old Bruce Lee flicks that John had only just recently discovered Dorian absolutely loved), soaking in a bubble bath, which John had to admit he enjoyed indulging in whenever he got the chance, or going out for dinner at the noodle joint down the street now that John found he could actually stomach his favorite meal once again.

And Dorian, ever true to his word, had continued to show John every day, at every opportunity, how much he meant to him with little gestures and big ones, never running short on those three words John hadn’t realized he needed so damn desperately to hear. “ _I love you, John_ ”  Dorian would say or whisper or even send through a text, no matter the time of day, no matter if they were sitting right next to one another; and John would blush, more often times than not, and would sometimes have to swallow around the lump in his throat, but he would always smile and had started, very slowly and very cautiously, to believe that maybe he _did_ deserve Dorian’s love. It was a gradual thing that only strengthened the connection between them. And although John had yet to be able to form those words back in reply, due maybe to some goddamn mental roadblock or some deep, damaged part of his spirit that denied him the fulfillment, he worked hard to convey those feelings to Dorian as best as he was able, while privately attempting to mend those broken pieces of himself so that one day he might be whole enough, _worthy_ enough, to accept all that Dorian was offering him. Because he did love Dorian; he would _always_ love him and with an intensity that made his heart ache-- Hell, how could he even deny it anymore, even if he was admitting that truth only to himself? He knew that Dorian could feel it, could see it, especially when it was written so plainly across his face. And still Dorian never pressured him to speak the words, seemingly knowing John would say them when he really was ready. He’d only ever smile and accept John’s kisses and touches, answering each one with a soft “ _I love you too, John_.”

Over those months John’s belly had continued to grow, reaching a roundness that Dorian regularly proclaimed was beautiful, remarking on how John’s skin had taken on a lovely glow, even when John had two days worth of stubble prickling his jaw and a weary frown turning his mouth down from being kept up by a baby that wanted to practice kung-fu all goddamn night. And John would always mutter out a snarky, snappish response and rub his hand against his neck, trying to keep up his grumpy frown, though he never could for long.

It had been around that time, in those weeks that seemed to move like quicksilver, that Dorian had stumbled upon a website, John assumed with Val’s help no doubt, about pregnancy and what to expect, and while they had both already learned much of it from doctor’s visits and actually experiencing it through John’s first, second, and now third trimester, Dorian found the tidbit about the developing sensitivity of the baby’s hearing and had latched on to the information with an enthusiastic intensity. He would never miss a chance to press his hands to John’s belly and bring his mouth in close, murmuring to their unborn child anything that seemed to pop into his head in a soft conversational tone that never failed to melt John’s heart.

Caiden had quickly become accustomed to the sound of his papa’s voice and would shift toward Dorian’s unique cadence every time he spoke to John’s stomach. And if Dorian had his hands on John’s bare skin he could see their son’s movements for himself, scanning him like he had when they had discovered Caiden’s gender together, blue lines always dancing joyously down his face as he watched.

John had started to become a little jealous that he couldn’t see it the way Dorian could, but took solace in the fact that while Dorian could see it, he couldn’t _feel_ it, not like John could, with those little movements arcing like a live current between him and Caiden, connecting them in an indescribable way.

But the connection went even deeper than that; John could feel the bond that he and Dorian shared begin to weave itself between all three of them, tying them together in a way that both amazed and terrified him with the uncertainty they faced looming ever closer. But on most days, with John feeling happier than he had been in a very long damn time, he found he could overlook that trepidation and instead concentrate on cataloging the memories they were making, earmarking and hiding them away so he could pull them out and examine them, _cherish_ them, if the worst was to happen.

And oh, what memories they made in those late autumn and winter months.

Halloween had typically been a holiday John had bypassed without much of a second thought, usually not even aware of it until the incessant ringing of his doorbell drove him to a grousing walk down to the nearest bar where he could hide out for the night; but when Dorian had discovered what trick-or-treating actually involved, John knew he wasn’t going to be lucky enough to find a nice, quiet place to hole up. Dorian had decided, by a stroke of fucking genius John was sure, that he wanted to dress as a late 1970’s era Elton John, complete with a sequined polyester leisure suit and a garish pair of rose tinted glasses, and had insisted John get in the spirit of the holiday too. John went as far as to wear a black sweater with a giant print of a pumpkin stretched across his belly, and even that was pushing it.

John had rewarded himself for not grumbling too much by snagging a bag of snickers from Dorian’s stash by the candy bowl and situating himself on the couch to watch Dorian hand out the treats to all the kids that came to the door. By the end of the night, John had eaten just about his entire weight in chocolate, but found he rather enjoyed seeing Dorian interacting with all those kids and couldn’t help picturing him taking their son out, dressed in some adorable costume, ringing doorbells and helping him hold out an overly large pillowcase for candy; the mental image had immediately tightened John’s chest with emotion and had quickly spurred him off the couch to help Dorian pass out the last few pieces of fun sized candy bars in between chocolate flavored kisses.

October had then quickly fallen away to November, which naturally lead to Thanksgiving-- another holiday John didn’t care for, not when he hadn’t had much family left to spend it with. Dorian had seen to changing his mind about that too, inviting Rudy and Val over for a dinner he had proudly cooked himself. It was the first time since John’s mother had died that John had eaten something other than ramen noodles on Thanksgiving Day.

Christmas had come bustling in shortly thereafter on a cold winter’s day, dusting a thin, windblown layer of snow across all the Districts. John, who had always preferred cold weather over hot, wasn’t put off in the slightest by the freezing chill banking off the Bay, not when he was able to spend the day eating sugar cookies and watching the snow fall from the the comfort of the apartment. He had surprised Dorian with a gift early that afternoon; a necklace with a small medallion of St. Michael hanging from the simple silver chain. John wasn’t a religious man, not anymore, but he still held a little stock in the belief that there was someone out there watching out for him, and since he did still remember a majority of the schooling he received at a young age, he explained to Dorian how Michael was the patron Saint of those on the police force and how wearing it would keep him safe while he was out on the field with Riley. Dorian had immediately put it on with a wide grin, his face a flurry of blue light, quickly settling the necklace under his shirt, pressing his hand over it and holding it close against his skin.

He had quickly jumped up from the couch, rushing into another room while John sat with a baffled half-smile curving his mouth. Dorian had walked back into the living room, his grin even wider, if that was possible, a small gift box held out in front of him. John had reached for it, but Dorian shook his head gently, coming to a stop before him and kneeling down. “This is a present for you and the baby,” he had said, bringing his face in close to John’s belly, settling a hand over the rising swell at the top. “Merry Christmas, Caiden. I cannot wait to finally meet you.” John felt Caiden shift toward Dorian’s voice as he continued softly, “I love you more than you know.”

Tears had welled in John’s eyes then, and he blinked them back quickly, smiling when Dorian had looked up at him from where he knelt on the floor, bringing up the delicately wrapped present.

He had handed it to John with a slightly wobbly grin, sitting back on his haunches and watching raptly as John opened it.

A small silver ornament in the shape of a star sat nestled on a bed of pale blue tissue paper inside the small box. John pulled it out gently by a white ribbon tied at the top and held it up. The ornament spun gently, catching the grey, overcast light filtering in through the windows behind them, highlighting an inscription written in scrolling letters across the back.

_No matter what happens, it will always be worth it_

And John had known, after seeing those words, what a damn futile effort it was to hold back his tears any longer.

///////

The first of the new year came and went, and three weeks before Caiden was due to make his appearance into the world, Val held the baby shower she had been planning, inviting over to John and Dorian’s apartment a handful of their closests friends from the station, including Rudy, who John had heard fumbled as awkwardly as fucking possible through accepting Val’s invitation, thinking at first that she was asking him out on a date. John had laughed so hard when Val told him that he had almost given himself the damn hiccups.

He looked up from the cupcake on a little paper plate in his hand, clearing his throat as his chuckles finally faded away, glancing at Val as she stood before him. She nodded and grinned, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “He was just as happy to come to the shower, though. I think he was actually relieved when he realized what I was asking.”

John smiled and nodded slightly, taking a huge bite out of his cupcake. He was quiet for a moment, looking around his apartment, seeing his work friends chatting happily beside a large stack of desperately needed baby supplies. “Thanks for doing all this, Val,” he said after swallowing.

She smiled softly, centering her deep brown eyes on him. “You are very welcome,” she replied before making her way to the kitchen to start cleaning up.

John finished his cupcake, glancing around but not seeing Dorian. He wandered back through the apartment, waddling as he went, and found him in the office, a smallish room that they had just finished converting into Caiden’s nursery.

Dorian had his back to the door, looking down at the crib he and John had put together only a couple days prior. To say that constructing it had been an easy task would have been a gross understatement, if John correctly remembered the vibrant string of curses he had muttered the entire time. He shook his head lightly and came up to stand beside his mate, wrapping an arm back around his shoulders.

Dorian glanced over at him, smiling. “Can you believe he’ll be here in just three weeks?” he asked, an intricate pattern of blue scrawling its way down his temple.

John shook his head in shared disbelief, bringing his free hand up to his stomach, rubbing gently. “It’s hardly any time at all.”

Dorian glanced back down to the crib before looking up again. “You’re going to be a great dad, John.”

John felt his mark flush in a cool, prickling tingle. “I think we’re both gonna be pretty damn great,” he chuckled.

The sound of someone clearing their throat in the doorway startled them both, and John reflexively dropped his arm from Dorian’s shoulders. They turned around to see Rudy standing just at the threshold of the nursery, wringing his hands, his head ducked down slightly. He came into the room slowly, looking up at them with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

John’s heart gave a nervous little jump.

“I’ve finally finished synthesizing the pheromone,” he said quietly, “It was a very intricate process, but I wanted to let you both know, th- that if you still want to go through with this, I’m ready when you are.”

John saw Dorian nod slowly out of the corner of his eye, mirroring his own halting agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday everybody! I know these last couple days have been a hard blow to those of us in the Almost Human fandom, but just remember that it's not /official/ yet that it has been cancelled. The last I heard, Fox hadn't issued a statement about the fate of our show, so until we know for sure we just have to be strong for each other. I just wanted to let you guys know, that no matter what happens, I'll continue on with this story until I've finished it..I won't ever leave you hanging, even though sometimes my cliffhangers might make you feel that way lol ^_^ Thanks, as always, for everything! You guys know how much I love you, right? <3


	19. Reduced to Ash

John found himself in Rudy’s lab early the next morning with Dorian at his side, the large, sun-drenched room full of an undeniable and palpable anxiousness. They had wasted no time in deciding to come down to the lab the day after the baby shower at Rudy’s adamant insistence that the pheromone replacement be completed as soon as possible, stating that he did not want to cut it too close to John’s due date, worried that because of the uncertain but inherent risk involved, it might trigger a crisis more dire than just a broken bond. John and Dorian hadn’t needed a more detailed explanation than that and had arrived at Rudy’s lab as early as they could the next morning.

John shucked his heavy winter coat and unwound a black scarf from around his neck, looking around the large room, cluttered with a myriad of electrical equipment, pulling in a deep breath of gear oil and soldered copper and sun-warmed dust-- intermingling scents that never failed to remind him of the day he had come down looking for a replacement MX and had left with a DRN who had changed his life. He swallowed thickly, his eyes ghosting over the shelves and work tables crowding the lab, finally coming to rest on the stretcher-type bed set up in the middle of the room. A small stainless steel table, topped with a handful of delicate tools, was situated at its side. It was a scene so nearly identical to that day when Rudy had originally erased their bond that John had to physically work to control his breathing.

Dorian glanced over at him, slipping his hand around John’s and squeezing comfortingly. A warm ribbon of reassurance traveled from John’s mark outward, settling gently around his middle, and he drug in a steadying breath, feeling a bit of his anxious tension fade away.

Rudy suddenly emerged from the back room where he had disappeared to when they had first arrived, wearing a pair of magnified glasses with a small built-in lamp and carrying a tiny metal capsule in the palm of one hand. He made his way to a wheeled stool beside the bed and looked up at John and Dorian, his already large eyes blown to humongous proportions by his glasses. John chuckled lightly in spite of himself.

Rudy motioned them over after gingerly setting the metal capsule on the small tabletop beside the bed.

John started making his way over, but felt Dorian tug back on his hand gently before he took barely half a step. He looked over at him, seeing an intricate pattern of blue scrawl its way down the side of his face, his brows drawing together over stormy blue eyes.

“Give me just a minute before we do this,” he requested softly.

John nodded and Dorian knelt down, settling his hands against John’s belly, bringing his mouth right up against the soft grey fabric of John’s sweater. “I love you, Caiden,” he murmured after pressing a tender kiss to the baby bump.

John felt their son shift toward the sound of his papa’s voice and had to swallow back the strained sob that threatened to spill from his throat.

Dorian quickly stood, bringing his hands up to frame John’s face, leaning forward over John’s rounded stomach and pressing an urgent and profound kiss to his lips. John brought his own hands up, hooking them over Dorian’s wrists, returning the kiss with a pained fervor like it was the last time their lips would touch.

But too soon, Dorian pulled back. A solemn expression settled over his face as John struggled for breath. “I love you, John,” he choked out, “No matter what happens, please know that I love you.”

John nodded jerkily, blinking back the tears that began to blur his vision, as Dorian dropped his hands down to his sides. “I- I lo…” John paused, clearing his throat. “I- I’ll be right here when you wake up,” he rasped out, damning himself viciously for _still_ not being able to utter those words he felt so strongly in his heart.

Dorian smiled sadly and made his way to the bed silently, sitting down and swinging his legs up over the edge before laying down.

Rudy looked away from the two of them, furtively swiping at a few stray tears that had slipped down his cheeks. “Let’s get s-started,” he stammered out hoarsely.

John stepped up beside the stretcher, grabbing up Dorian’s hand, trying his damndest to draw on the feelings of contentment and peace and wholeness he had felt last night when he had lain huddled in Dorian's embrace, his skin slick with sweat, his heart pumping happily with the exertion of their coupling, his body sated in the most thoroughly complete way. But for as quickly as that memory began to ease him, it was gone, replaced again by dread.

His fingers shook around Dorian's and Dorian looked up at him, smiling encouragingly. John tried to return the smile as best he could, but had to quickly press his mouth into a thin line to keep his bottom lip from trembling. He tore his eyes away, watching wordlessly as Rudy pulled Dorian offline. His mate’s eyes were instantly swallowed up by deep pools of black and his hand went limp in John’s.

John stubbornly refused to let go, swearing to himself that he would hold on until this whole goddamn thing was finally over.

Rudy looked up at him from his stool on the opposite side of the bed, pushing his glasses up on his forehead. “I need to tell you one last thing before we begin, and I am so sorry I haven’t said anything sooner.”

John looked at him evenly, holding onto Dorian’s hand a little tighter. “What is it?” he asked, his voice gravel rough.

Rudy swallowed visibly. “In order for Dorian to be completely devoid of all human DNA, I will need to flush his system of all remaining s-semen,” he said, a flare of red blushing across his cheeks.

John only stared at him blankly, the worry and anxiety that had been coursing relentlessly through him since yesterday blocking his brain from understanding the significance of what Rudy had just said.

Rudy held his gaze. “Which means, you will not be able to have anymore children together,” he explained gently.

John felt his breath snag painfully in his chest. He and Dorian hadn’t really talked about a desire to add to their family after Caiden, but hearing Rudy’s words put a screeching fucking halt to the conversation before it had even begun. It left an aching air of finality lodged deep in his heart, even knowing he could do nothing about it, not now, when they had no other goddamn choice but to go through with this.

He nodded his understanding soundlessly, not trusting in the ability of his own damn voice to produce words that wouldn't quake.

Rudy studied him for a moment, a look of raw apology flashing in his eyes, before he tugged his glasses back into place and hunched closer to Dorian.

John watched numbly as Rudy poked and prodded in the open plate on Dorian’s temple and pulled in a shaky breath when Rudy stilled and reached for the small metal capsule on the table beside him with one hand while keeping a firm grip on a screwdriver lodged deep in a bundle of wires spilling from Dorian’s head with the other.

“Here we go,” Rudy murmured, his focus fiercely centered on his task.

John's heart knocked heavily against his ribcage and he squeezed Dorian's hand tightly, bracing himself as best he could for what might happen.

Rudy inserted the capsule, his hands working rapidly, though John couldn't exactly see what was happening from where he stood on the opposite side of the bed.

But what he couldn't see, he sure as hell _felt._

A great piercing hurt, more heartbreaking than any John had ever experienced in the whole of his entire goddamn life, plowed through him mercilessly and without warning as his bond was suddenly ripped away. It left such a vast, agonizing grief inside him that his knees buckled and tears instantly welled in his eyes, spilling hotly down his cheeks in streaming rivulets before he could even try to hold them back.

John felt as if he was being forced to watch Dorian die right in front of him with him helpless to stop it and it very fucking nearly killed him.

And just as he was about to cry out with the pain of that unbearable loss hurtling through him, it was gone, wiped away in a heady, dizzying rush as his mark reappeared, fusing back to him like it had never disappeared in the first place; and all of it happening within the barest fraction of a second.

John whimpered and leaned forward over the bed, weakly resting his head down on Dorian's chest, keeping a tight grip on his mate's limp hand. He sobbed out his relief that the artificial pheromone had effectively replaced the original the way it was supposed to, even for all the fucking agony he had just endured. It had worked, and that was all that mattered.

A cramp twisted low in his gut and John sucked in a sharp breath, but it quickly faded and he passed it off as residual pain from the pheromone transition. He straightened up from Dorian's chest after a moment, still struggling to catch his breath, and saw a damp spot on Dorian's shirt from where his tears had soaked into the material. He brought up his free hand and wiped the excess moisture from his cheeks.

Rudy glanced up at him, a triumphant grin plastered across his face. “It worked!”

John nodded and smiled shakily, holding a hand against the side of his belly as another cramp gripped him.

Rudy’s grin quickly fell away, his face pale. “John, I think you should sit down.”

John shook his head roughly, feeling the pain dissipate again after only a few seconds. “I’m fine,” he growled. “Just do whatever the hell you have to do to finish this.”

Rudy’s eyes widened and ducked his head submissively, hunching back down toward Dorian, meticulously reattaching the wires spilling from the open plate on Dorian’s head. He grabbed up a series of tubes from the table and rucked up Dorian’s shirt from his waistband slightly, opening up another concealed plate at Dorian’s hip. John watched as Rudy began anchoring the tubing into Dorian’s side, but quickly had to look away when he felt his stomach roll nauseously.

“Will we still be able to…” He left the rest of the sentence hanging as he glanced back over to Rudy, needing to know, hell maybe a little selfishly, if Dorian would still be able to _perform_ after Rudy finished ‘flushing his system’. Because John couldn’t really imagine what it would feel like to have that aspect of their relationship missing.

Rudy looked up at him, puzzled. “Still be able to, what?”

John held his gaze, pointedly raising an eyebrow.

“Oh!” Comprehension dawned on Rudy’s face and he blushed. “Yes, Dorian will still be functional in that way. I’m replacing his organic semen with the synthetic variant that’s found in the sexbots Betas sometimes like to use.”

Rudy looked down at Dorian, slowly removing the tubing and pulling Dorian’s shirt back down. He quickly shifted his attention back to the open plate at Dorian’s temple, and after a few turns of his screwdriver, Dorian was back online.

John felt another cramp spasm low in his belly just as Dorian’s eyes returned to their natural blue-grey color and he grimaced, clamping down on Dorian’s hand.

Dorian immediately sat up, concern etched deeply into the lines on his face. “John?” he asked, alarm ringing clear in his voice.

John schooled the grimace from his expression, waving away Dorian’s worry. “I’m fine,” he said with a weak chuckle, holding a hand up against the side of his stomach as the pain faded away again. “See? Told you I’d still be here when you woke up.”

Dorian was not fooled in the slightest by John’s stubborn evasion. “We need to get you to a doctor. Now, John.” He led John to a chair and made him sit, much to John’s grousing lament.

Dorian glared at Rudy as the other Omega scrambled to put his tools away. “What happened, Rudy?” he demanded.

Rudy glanced over at them both, the expression on his face showing he was just as concerned as Dorian. “The pheromone replacement was successful,” he replied, licking his lips nervously. “There’s a chance that this is some sort of side effect.”

John leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. He was about to tell them both to stop worrying so goddamn much, that he was perfectly fine, when another cramp clutched at him painfully.

He slowly looked up at Dorian standing before him, his heart beginning to pound. “Okay,” he conceded shakily, “Let’s go.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so excited that this story reached 20,000 hits that I wanted to draw up some more Jorian fan art for you guys as a 'thank you' for being so amazing! Hope you guys like it! I am in an continual state of awe at how much support I've received so far in the form of kudos and comments and bookmarks and even just the little messages you guys send me. I feel so incredibly loved ^_^ Can I tell you guys a funny story? I got settled at my desk at work this morning right after I clocked in and turned on the radio, and can you believe what song was playing? 'Hello' by Lionel Richie- the song that Dorian sings when he's sitting in the police cruiser in the 'Straw Man' episode. It was the perfect way to start my day, especially knowing I was going to post a new chapter for you after I got home!   
> Thanks again and always for everything! Remember, you can always find me on tumblr at http://lopsided-whiskey-grin.tumblr.com/ if you ever wanna chat or fangirl with me! Also, I'm always happy (ecstatic, really) to see any fan art or just any cool pictures you guys find that remind you of our favorite bonded pair ;)   
> xoxox, Lopsided Whiskey Grin


	20. Raked Over the Coals

" _Braxton Hicks_?" John stared at the ER doctor standing before him, confused and more than a little shaken. "What the hell does that even mean?"

He saw Dorian's face light up blue out of the corner of his eye and he looked over at him standing beside the hospital bed John was sitting on. The doctor, Mary Lee as her badge stated, opened her mouth to explain, but Dorian beat her to it.

"False labor pains," Dorian enunciated slowly, a sharp understanding dawning across his face.

" _False_? Sure as hell _felt_ real!" John groused incredulously, holding his hand against his belly, which had already stopped cramping on the drive to the hospital.

"Braxton Hicks contractions commonly occur in the later part of the third trimester," Dorian said, electric blue continuing to scrawl its way down his temple and John was sure he was searching through some hidden memory bank for information.

The ER doc turned her gentle sea-green eyes on John, the harsh hospital lighting overhead glinting dully off of the stethoscope around her neck. “It’s a natural process, Mr. Kennex. It’s simply your body preparing for labor, which,” she paused, looking down at the electronic chart in her hand, “looks like you’re right on track for here in about three weeks. I suspect you’ll make it to your due date with no problem. Though, sometimes these Braxton Hicks contractions can become more intense if you’re under a large amount of stress. I would suggest you try and take it easy these next few weeks.”

John and Dorian exchanged a glance. John knew full-fucking-well what stress had brought on the contractions and it had almost everything to do with a pheromone exchange that had taken place earlier that morning; which, now that they knew had worked successfully, would allow John to hopefully unburden himself of the strain he had been under recently. As long as nothing else got thrown at them until February 2nd at least.

Sighing deeply and rubbing a palm against his neck, John pulled his gaze away from Dorian as the doctor continued speaking, “I’d like to run a quick ultrasound just to see how everything is progressing.”

John felt Caiden give a little hiccup and he ran a soothing hand across the top of his stomach. “It’s fine with me, but we just had one done at my appointment last week. My doctor said everything looked good.”

John distinctly remembered seeing Dorian’s face light up with a huge grin as they both watched Dr. Michaels bring Caiden’s sonogram picture up on the holo-monitor, showing them how Caiden had flipped head down in preparation for his birth. John had unthinkingly grabbed Dorian’s hand, and even though Dr. Michaels had seen it, he had said nothing, only smiled at the both of them.

Dr. Lee scrolled through her electronic record and pushed a few buttons before looking back up at John and smiling kindly. “It’s usually a good idea at this stage in your pregnancy to have a check-up once a week, and since you just had one _last_ week and you’re already here, we can just go ahead and take care of it for you now, just to be sure everything still looks good, especially in light of the high level of stress you experienced earlier.”

John nodded his agreement and saw Dorian do the same. “Better safe than sorry,” John reasoned, shrugging.

It wasn’t long before a technician came in, rolling a compact ultrasound machine into the small curtained room with her. John laid back on the hospital bed and Dorian moved to stand up beside his head, making room for the equipment. John felt his mate settle a warm hand on his shoulder and he glanced up, bringing his arm across his chest and squeezing Dorian’s hand reassuringly before putting his arm back at his side. He pulled his sweater up over his rounded stomach and braced himself, like every other ultrasound he had had these last few months, for the cold gel that was rubbed over his skin. And just like every other damn time he’d had an ultrasound, he jumped at the shock of the frigid jelly.   

He heard Dorian chuckle lightly beside him and had to work hard to keep the frown tugging at his lips from twitching up into a smile.

Dr. Lee accepted the sonogram wand the technician handed her and waited until the woman exited and closed the privacy curtain before focusing back on John. She settled the wand over his belly, moving it around a bit to find the best vantage point as John and Dorian watched the holo-screen. John wondered if the picture on the screen was what Dorian saw when he settled his hands on John’s belly and scanned him or if it looked different somehow. He made a mental note to ask him later.

Dr. Lee finally stopped the wand on John’s stomach and a fairly clear picture of Caiden appeared on the screen. “Looks like Mr. Caiden isn’t facing head down yet,” she observed.

John glanced to the doctor before looking back to the screen. “He was last week. Is that a problem?” He felt Dorian’s hand tighten fractionally on his shoulder.

The doctor shook her head lightly and looked over at him with a soft smile. “Not a problem at all. It’s perfectly normal. I suspect he might flip back down here within the next few days, but I’ll send a note over to your OB’s office to do a check next week when you’re there, just to make sure.”

She continued to move the wand around John’s belly for another moment before setting it aside and grabbing a towel for John to wipe his stomach with. “Everything looks great!” she said brightly. “Just remember to take time to relax, okay? Too much stress may increase the severity of your Braxton Hicks contractions and might push you into labor, which we want to avoid, if possible, until we get a little closer to your due date.”

John pulled his sweater back down over his belly and propped himself up on his elbows. “So, how do I know the difference?” he asked.

Dr. Lee pulled off her rubber gloves, arching a delicate brow. “Between?”

“Between the Braxton ones and the real thing?”

The doctor handed him a pamphlet from a nearby shelf. “When you are in true labor your contractions will be much more intense and will typically last about sixty seconds or so, not like the few second bursts you described as experiencing earlier. And they’ll also occur at regular intervals that you will be able to time,” she explained.

“How regular, Dr. Lee?” Dorian broke in.

She glanced between the both of them. “You’ll want to start making your way to the hospital if the contractions start coming every five to seven minutes from the end of one to the start of the next.”

John’s heart fluttered nervously for a moment and he pushed himself up to a sitting position with Dorian’s help. To say that he was only a _little_ scared of the whole labor and delivery process would have been a damn bald-faced lie-- he was leaning more toward _terrified_ after his earlier bout with ‘false’ contractions.

“Have you discussed with Dr. Michaels the possibility of using an epidural?” Dr. Lee asked after looking up from her hand held electronic record.

John nodded adamantly, then winced when Caiden gave him a sharp kick. “Yeah. That was one of the first things we talked about,” he said, glancing over to Dorian for a brief moment. Dorian had actually been the one to bring it up at that appointment, knowing how fervidly John tried to avoid pain at all costs, especially after all the agony he had experienced over the events of the raid and the resultant physical therapy he’d endured.

Dr. Lee nodded and tapped a few more times on her tablet then looked up at them with a gentle smile.

“Well then, it looks like you’re all set. Unless you have anymore questions?”

John and Dorian shook their heads and it wasn’t long after the doctor had electronically signed John’s discharge orders and had exited the small curtained room, wishing them both the best of luck, that the pair found themselves alone.

Dorian came to stand in front of John where he sat on the edge of the hospital bed with his legs hanging over the side, the height of the bed bringing them up to eye level. He framed John’s face gently with his hands and pressed a soft, languid kiss to his mouth. The slow contact flushed John’s mark with a gradual and undeniably relieved warmth and he couldn’t help but smile against Dorian’s lips.

Dorian pulled back and ran his hands down to John’s shoulders, rubbing lightly. “You okay?” he asked softly.

John nodded, answering with a quiet “Yeah.” Because he really was okay, now that he knew he and Dorian didn’t have to worry about their bond anymore, now that he knew exactly what the fuck Braxton Hicks contractions were.

He chuckled lightly and started to move off the hospital bed with Dorian’s help.

Dorian quickly grabbed up John’s scarf from a chair beside the bed and began winding it loosely around his neck, planting soft kisses to John’s mouth with each loop.

A configuration of blue suddenly ran down Dorian’s cheek as John was beginning to shrug into his coat and John rolled his eyes. “What is it now?” he sighed, zipping his jacket up over his belly, recognizing by now the pattern that indicated that Dorian had received a text message.

Dorian glanced up at him. “Riley wanted to know if I could meet him at the office a little early and head out to process a scene that got called in late last night. I can drop you off at home before I head down there. I’m sure Captain Maldonado won’t penalize you for taking one day off of work to relax.” He stepped closer to John, straightening and fussing with his scarf, “Especially since you have doctor’s orders to take it easy for the next three weeks.” He gave John an easy smile.

John looked at his watch, considering Dorian’s offer to drive him home. They had gotten to Rudy’s lab so damn early that even with the pheromone transfer and their impromptu visit to the ER there was still thirty minutes before both his and Dorian’s shifts were scheduled to start.

But he didn’t really feel tired; didn’t really feel anxious or nervous anymore either, not like he had these last few months leading up to the ‘operation’ Rudy had just performed. He felt at peace--content. So the idea of heading into work and sitting at his desk to process paperwork didn’t really bother him that much.

He shook his head lightly and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “Nah, we can head down to the office together. It’s not like filing police reports all day is all _that_ stressful,” he said with a smirk.

Dorian’s blue grey eyes studied him for a moment.

“Besides,” John continued, “I want one of those donuts that Val’s been bringing in before they’re all gone.” His stomach rumbled at his own words and he suddenly realized he was hungry.

Dorian grinned a dimpled smile, blue light dancing up his temple. “Alright,” he agreed, holding back the curtain wall and ushered John out. “Let’s go get you a donut.”

John’s stomach rumbled hungrily again. “Better make it two!” he said over his shoulder.

He heard the lilt of Dorian’s chuckle behind him the whole way out of the hospital.

//////////////

It wasn’t long before John was settled at his desk at work, his hair still slightly damp from the flurrying snow that was falling outside, with a jelly donut in one hand and a warm mug of decaf coffee in the other.

And it wasn’t much longer after _that_ that John had worked through the large amount of files on his computer desktop, taken a nice long lunch, and had received a couple field updates via text from Dorian, pushing through the workday until there was only an hour until his shift was over.

He arched his back in his chair, reaching his arms up over his head in a hearty stretch, marveling at how fast the day had seemed to fly by. And even though he hadn't felt any more Braxton Hicks since those first ones early that morning, he had decided that he would truly take Dr. Lee's words to heart and run himself a nice warm, relaxing bath when he got home and maybe convince Dorian to join him, though he knew he wouldn't really have to do much convincing.

He thought back to the last time they had taken a bath together and how Dorian had so gracefully brought him to a beautiful and earth-shattering orgasm, and how water had ended up all over the goddamn floor in great sudsy puddles, and how after Dorian had mopped up the mess, they had made their way to the bed and had gone two more breathtakingly indescribable rounds.

John was so deep in the memory that he didn't realize someone had come to stand in front of him until he felt a hand tap lightly on his shoulder. He jerked reflexively in his chair and looked up, blinking the present back into focus. Val stood before him, drawing her hand back from his shoulder.

"Welcome back to Planet Earth, John," she said with a gentle laugh.

He rubbed a palm against his neck, willing away the blush creeping across his cheeks and shifted a bit in his chair, trying to hide the half-hard erection he could feel starting to press up against his pants from the sweltering memory he had just been immersed in.

"Did I miss something?" he asked, shooting for a blithe tone and falling flat. "Time to go home yet?"

"Not quite," she answered, looking down a tablet in her hand. "We just got a call from PD about a B and E and assault at a residence on the east side. They're requesting assistance."

John looked up at her curiously, one eyebrow cocked. "They do realize this department is for homicide cases only, right?"

"Yes," she answered, tapping at the tablet's touch-screen, "but the victim is demanding to talk to you specifically, and he won't give a statement until he speaks to you first."

John's mind rifled through a myriad of faces, trying to think who would be needing to speak to him and him alone and came up empty. "Who is it?" he asked, reaching for the tablet that Val was handing him.

"Some professor I've never heard of," she replied.

And it was a fucking stroke of luck that Valerie's tablet was crack resistant because John's hands immediately fumbled the goddamn thing right to the ground as soon as she said the professor's name.

"Dr. Thomas Lowery."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is everyone's week going so far? Good I hope! It's almost the weekend! *happy dance* ^_^ Hope everybody liked the newest chapter, and hopefully you won't be too mad that Caiden hasn't made his appearance into the world yet! Won't be too long, though, before John and Dorian will be holding their little bundle of joy ;) Thanks as always (because I want to give thanks where it is most definitely due) for supporting me throughout this story- you guys are the best readers a writer could ever ask for <3


	21. Inferno

“Are you okay, John?” Val asked, looking genuinely concerned as she bent down to retrieve the data tablet that he had just dropped. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

John reached forward and scooped up the tablet for her, setting it in her hand a little unsteadily. “Dr. Lowery…” He let the sentence fall away, not really sure how much he was allowed to divulge, even if it was to Valerie, just because of the lengths the doctor and the government had made to keep the information private. He cleared his throat and started over, “It’s just that it’s been months since me or Dorian have talked to him. I- I didn’t know that we’d ever hear from him again.” He shook his head in disbelief, remembering the last time, hell the _first_ time, they had spoken to Dr. Lowery- way back when John had just found out he was pregnant. Dr. Lowery had told them about Dorian Crux, the man Dorian had been modeled after. He had also told them about the government funded study on the engineering of Alpha and Omega dynamics in androids that he had been approached by the Biomechanical Defense Agency to lead, and how the study had been shut down after it had only barely begun due to the passing of the bill banning all androids from possessing human DNA.

It had been a short visit all in all and they hadn’t spoken to the doctor since, so John was utterly fucking confused as to why Dr. Lowery would demand John be called into the crime scene. Just by virtue of the fact that he remembered that John was a detective?

John shook his head, still slightly baffled. He supposed it made a fractured sort of sense that Dr. Lowery would want him there, especially if the doctor was in shock from the assault he had just suffered. But John had been assigned desk duty; he technically wasn't supposed to be out in the field, _technically_. Maybe Maldonado would make a special concession, just this once.

He glanced over at Sandra’s office from where he sat at his desk and saw that it was empty.

_Well, hell_.

He slowly pushed to his feet and picked his holster up off his desktop, settling it across his shoulders with a practiced ease while Val watched. He had never been one to prescribe to that old adage that “It was better to ask for permission than beg for forgiveness” anyways.

Val handed him her tablet again and he looked over the specs of the case, of which there were few. The officers that had initially arrived at the scene had catalogued it as a robbery that had gone awry when the perp had realized there was someone home. But something about it didn’t seem right to John. He had been inside Dr. Lowery’s house- it was not a residence that would be very easy to break into, not with all the security features the doctor had implemented that John had seen during his short visit there.

He handed the tablet back to Val and turned to his desk to grab up his mobile from the top drawer.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay to do this?” she asked.

John turned back to her, seeing how she glanced down to his belly as he typed out a quick message to Dorian.

[text] Code 240 was called in by PD, req’d my assistance, vic is doc Lowery. Should be an easy in and out. I’ll still make it home before you. Just giving you a heads up.

He looked back up at Valerie as he shoved the phone into his pocket without waiting to see if Dorian responded. “It’s probably nothing major. I’m sure he’s just a little shaken up.” He started bundling himself in his coat and scarf. “They probably just need me to calm him down enough for him to give a statement.”

Val looked uncertain for a moment, glancing to Maldonado’s office like he had just done. “Alright,” she conceded finally, as if John had needed her permission, “but I’m coming with you.”

John nodded obligingly and scooped his keys up off his desk. “I’ll drive.”

They quickly made their way out to John’s cruiser just as a fresh wave of snow began to fall and they settled into the car with twin puffs of chilled breaths that fogged the interior momentarily.

The last of the day's icy grey light filtered through the clouds as John glanced over at Val beside him in the passenger seat after turning over the ignition and firing up the heater. An uneasy and unexplainable swell of foreboding suddenly settled heavily in the pit of his stomach, but it was fleeting, gone before he had a chance to pinpoint exactly what had just made him feel so unnerved. He shook the last remnants of the feeling away, passing it off as the strangeness of seeing anyone else besides Dorian on his right, and quickly pulled the cruiser into traffic.

It was a quiet drive to Dr. Lowery's house, with the occasional beat of the windshield wipers as they cleared snow from the glass the only sound filling the car.

John eventually turned down the professor's street, darkened by the onset of the frosty January evening, and eased the cruiser up to the curb in front of Dr. Lowery's home. He squinted his eyes against the flashing red and blue lights from the police cars already there as he exited his own vehicle and watched, for a moment, the flurrying snow that danced in and out of the strobing beams of light as it fell from the black and clouded sky.

Val came to stand beside him and they made their way into the professor’s house together. John glanced at the door frame as they crossed the threshold , seeing no sign of forced entry. His eyes swept the hallway and rooms they passed as they made their way to the back of the house, mentally noting very obvious signs of a struggle- an overturned end table, a broken lamp, a smashed picture frame hanging askew on the wall- and stopped short when he saw Dr. Lowery sitting in one of the chairs that surrounded the large glass table in his home office, a paramedic kneeling down before him to dab at a long bloody gash on his cheek. John glanced to the table and saw a sizable crack running the length of the once flawless holo-desk and was instantly certain that it was irreparable.

The professor looked up as John and Val entered the small room, waving away the paramedic that had been trying to clean the blood from his face. He stood after the medic exited the room, closing the door securely before turning back to John and eyeing Val suspiciously for a moment.

“I’m not sure…” he began uncertainly.

John held up a hand. “We’re both here to help,” he explained gently. “Now, why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened.”

Dr. Lowery nodded and sat back down in his chair and John pulled another chair from around the table, sitting in front of the professor while Val hung back to take notes on her tablet.

As close as he was to Dr. Lowery now, John could really see the injuries he had received and felt a sudden flare of anger burn in his chest at whoever would want to hurt the man. Along with the gash on his cheek, he had a swollen bottom lip, fattened and split by an angry red cut, and a black eye, bruised and already puffy. John looked down and saw the broken wire-rimmed glasses that Dr. Lowery was clutching in an unsteady hand and felt that flare of anger burn a little hotter.

He pulled in a deep breath and looked back up at the professor. “Can you give me a rundown of everything that happened?” he asked, falling easily into the line of questions he had asked countless victims at countless crime scenes. “Did you get a good look at how did this to you?”

Dr. Lowery shook his head roughly and impatiently brushed a lock of salt and pepper hair from his eyes. “I didn’t call you down here to give you my statement, Detective Kennex. I can give _that_ to one of those uniformed idiots running around in my damn living room!” He huffed out a shaky sigh and swallowed visibly before adding, “I called you here to warn you.”

John’s heart rate kicked up and confusion flushed through him. He sat forward in his chair, rubbing a hand unconsciously over the side of his stomach. “Warn me about what?” he asked nervously.

“A woman came here- she must have decrypted my security locks to get in- and found me here in my office. She demanded to know where I was keeping the DRN model I had built for the BDA. I wasn’t going to tell her, Detective Kennex. I _refused_ to tell her.” His voice cracked and tears began to well in his eyes as he continued, “But she attacked me. She said she would kill me unless I told her where Dorian was. I- I just…. I am so sorry.”

John sat unmoving, numbly processing what Dr. Lowery had just told him. It had been Anna who had done this, he was fucking positive it was her. But what would she need Dorian for? A bargaining chip of some kind? His heart contracted painfully in his chest and he swallowed against a suddenly dry throat.

Dr. Lowery blinked back the tears crowding his eyes and looked up at John, shame and regret starkly carved into the lines on his face. “I really had no choice. You must understand that.” He looked down at his hands in lap. “I told her that he worked down at your precinct,” he finished quietly.

John stood suddenly and fished his cell phone out of his coat pocket, his heart beating wildly.

“She wanted me to give you a message, Detective. She made me swear that I would,” the professor said unevenly.

John froze with his finger hovering over Dorian’s contact information on the mobile’s touch screen.

Dr. Lowery swiped at a tear as it slipped down his abraded cheek with a shaky hand. “She told me: ‘Tell John that I will _always_ get what I want’.”

John pushed the talk button on his phone without another word, turning to the office door, seeing Val’s shocked face as he stepped past her to push out of the room. A slippery coil of dread settled heavily in his stomach as he listened to the line ring. If he could get a warning to Dorian, they could make up a plan and find a safe place to hide out until they could track that bitch down once and for all.

Caiden kicked him uneasily and John quickly smoothed one hand down his belly while he held his phone to his ear with the other. The call soon went to voicemail and John let out a frustrated growl. _Goddamnit._

“Dorian, Anna is coming after you and I don’t have time to explain why or how. Don’t go home and don’t go to the station. Call me back as soon as you get this message. Please.” He ended the call and quickly punched in Rudy’s number, pacing through Dr. Lowery’s wrecked living room as two cops watched him curiously.

Rudy, thank fucking Christ, picked up on the second ring. “John! How are you feeling? Did you-”

John abruptly cut him off, “Rudy, stop. Just listen to me for a second. I need your help,” he said, his voice pitched low to keep it from trembling.

Rudy’s answer was immediate, “Of course, John. Anything you need.”

John huffed out a nervous breath, bringing a hand up and rubbing it over his neck, feeling his own pulse fluttering frantically against his palm. “I need you to access Dorian’s locator chip and tell me where he is. The last time he texted me he said he was running one last case with Riley, but I can’t get a hold of him.”

Rudy was quiet for a moment and John could hear the tapping of computer keys on the other end of the line. “It looks like Detective Riley’s cruiser is back at the precinct, but Dorian isn’t anywhere near there. He’s... moving toward The Wall. John, what is going on?”

John swallowed back the fear that suddenly tried to overwhelm him. “Send me the coordinates,” he demanded hoarsely.

“Alright, but I can be of more help if you tell me what’s happening,” Rudy’s voice became worried and began to rise in pitch.

“The coordinates, damnit!” John shouted, his patience beginning to wear thin.

Rudy let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine! Just let me get an accurate read here.”

Rudy suddenly fell silent, and not even the tapping of computer keys hit John’s ear. “What? What is it, Rudy?” he growled.

There was an audible click on the other end of the line as Rudy swallowed. “I- I just lost the signal,” he said in a quiet dismay. “It’s gone, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger! I'm sorry to do it to you guys =_= hopefully you're not too mad with me! Thanks for all the love you continue to give me- I adore each and every one of you ^_^ <3


	22. Firestorm

John stood stock still in Dr. Lowery’s living room, his breath coming in harsh, shallow pants, the thunderous sound of his pulse rushing so loudly in his ears that it drown out all other sound. He dropped his hand limply to his side, his cell phone still clutched in numb fingers. Dread quickly began to claw at him, nearly consuming him. _Dorian’s gone. He’s missing. Oh, Christ, what am I going to do? I can’t do this all alone. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t._

Rudy’s voice suddenly drifted up to him, shouting John’s name from the other end of the line on his cell. It was a small, tinny sound, coming at him from very far away, almost inaudible to his panic-fogged brain. He slowly brought the phone back up to his ear, just in time to hear Rudy shout angrily, “You’d better bloody-well answer me, John Kennex!”

“I’m here,” John replied flatly, knowing that mentally, he was already gone, the wheels in his brain turning frantically to try to find a plan of action, a way that he could get Dorian back- that panicked loop of _I can’t, I can’t_  morphing succinctly into _I can’t let him go, I can’t let him go_.

Rudy continued, his voice worried and loud. “John, please tell me-”

But John interrupted him, “Send me the location of the last reading you have on Dorian.”

There was an exasperated sigh on the other end of the line. “Tell me what is happening here, John! Is he in danger?”

John’s patience snapped and he tightened his hand around his mobile almost hard enough to break the damn thing in two. “I do not have time to discuss this with you, Rudy! Give me the goddamn coordinates right fucking _now_!” he barked.

The two cops cataloguing evidence in the living room looked over at John, clearly surprised.

The furious tapping of computer keys suddenly hit John’s ear. “There, I’ve sent them,” Rudy said heatedly. “Please, John. Please just tell me you can find him.”

John’s mouth pressed into a thin line, his jaw setting on a hard edge with the sudden conviction he felt pulsing deeply within himself. “I won’t stop until I do.”

He ended the call without another word, shoving his cell into his coat pocket roughly and making his way down the long hallway that lead to Dr. Lowery’s front door.

Val was suddenly there behind him as he stepped out into the dark snowy evening.

“John? What is happening? What was Dr. Lowery talking about?”

John didn’t answer her, only kept striding to his cruiser. It was only when he felt her firmly grasp his jacket and yank back that he actually stopped.

He spun around on her, desperation and fear suffusing through his entire body with each pounding beat of his heart. “He’s gone, Val. Dorian’s gone. Rudy tracked his last position to right in front of The Wall." He raked a shaky hand through his hair. "Anna’s got him and is doing who-the-hell-knows-what to him and I cannot just sit by and let this happen. “

Val’s eyes were wide with alarm, but her voice was even and sure when she spoke. “Give me the coordinates, John. I’ll put in a call to Richard and we’ll find him.” She settled her hand on John’s shoulder warmly as she looked up at him. “It’s not safe for you to go looking for him yourself.”

“The hell it’s not!” he shouted, incensed, jerking back from her hand. “He is my bonded mate, Val, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for him. So you better arrest me and throw me in the fucking cubes because that’d be the _only_ way that you’d stop me from going after him!”

He turned back toward his cruiser without waiting for her response, storming up to the driver’s side and climbing in the seat with deliberate and rough movements.

He was just turning the engine over as Val wrenched open the passenger side door and slid into the car without looking at him. “I’m not letting you do this alone” she said almost breathlessly, opening her jacket and checking the gun in her holster.

“Whatever you say,” John answered in a clipped tone. He tore away from the curb, fishtailing slightly on the snow-packed road before throwing the cruiser through its gears as he made his way to Dorian’s last known location.

He gave Val a rundown of Dr. Lowery’s and Dorian’s backstory as he sped down the city’s darkened, icy streets and told her about the files he had read on the Immobilux-45 study, feeling certain that that was Anna’s reason for abducting Dorian- she wanted to get her hands on the lethal chemical and knew she could use John’s mate as leverage.

And John quickly discovered, with a detached sort of horror, that if it really came down to it- if Anna demanded a stockpile of easily weaponized poisonous gas in exchange for Dorian’s life- John would not fucking hesitate to hand it over. But he also knew he wouldn’t let it get that far- he’d get Dorian back and take down that Alpha bitch before she would have any chance to make demands.

His mobile’s GPS suddenly pinged their arrival and John slowed to a stop before a darkened section of The Wall. He quickly killed the engine and pocketed the keys before scrambling out of the driver’s seat. He stopped at the hood of the car, unzipping his coat enough to pull his gun from its holster, peering through the darkness at the looming wall as snow continued to fall around him softly. Val came to stand beside him, checking her firearm’s clip before shoving it back up into the butt of the weapon with an echoing click. It was the only sound that banked off the large concrete structure. John glanced up and down the deserted street, trying to see some sign as to where they should even start.

“This is where Rudy got his last reading on Dorian?” Val asked, her breath fogging out in a dissipating cloud.

John nodded, his heart beating so hard it ached. The falling snow had effectively covered any tracks that might have been there. Caiden jabbed him, sensing his daddy’s nervous energy and John quickly soothed down the side of his belly with the hand not gripping his pistol.

“ _Shit_ ,” he muttered, still looking for a sign, a footprint, fuck, _anything_ to clue him in to where Anna had taken Dorian. Hopelessness mixed fluidly with the dread pumping through him, nearly bringing him to the brink of tears.

But then a splash of color, a bright trail of liquid purple splattered starkly against the snow, caught John’s eye. His stomach lurched sickly as he rushed up to The Wall, following the line of fluid from where it started a few feet from the concrete structure right up to its edge. He looked closer, seeing the faint outline of a door embedded in the ground under a light dusting of snow and waved Val over.

She hurried to him and helped to heave up the heavy metal door. It fell open, hitting the ground in a thick puff of snow, revealing a narrow set of concrete steps leading to a tunnel that travelled down under the wall. John and Val exchanged a glance before soundlessly making their way down the stairs with their guns drawn.

The tunnel was damp and dank, lit sporadically by bare bulbs that did little to chase away the chilled winter air that bustled through the lengthy corridor.

John kept a close eye on the stone floor as they walked, tracking the thick purple droplets that spattered the ground, silently praying to whatever god would listen that Dorian was okay. _Please God, please let him be okay._

The two detectives finally made their way to the end of the tunnel where another set of concrete steps led up to a metal door nearly identical to the one they had just come through. John felt Val settle a hand on his shoulder and he looked back over his shoulder at her.

“Let me go first to clear,” she whispered.

John was about to protest until Val tugged the collar of her blouse to the side under her unzipped jacket, revealing her kevlar vest. He glanced down to his own rounded torso, knowing he wasn’t wearing one- he wasn’t supposed to be out in the goddamn field after all. He nodded his understanding and Val slipped by him in the narrow tunnel, readying her gun as John did the same.

She mouthed out a count of three and they both pushed the door up and open. Val exited the tunnel first with John right behind her, ready to lay down cover fire if need be.

The heavy, hollow thunk of the metal door falling open rang out loudly in the wide open space John and Val suddenly found themselves in, alerting a small group of people standing around the open doors of a black SUV not more than thirty feet in front of them.

John’s heart leapt when he saw Dorian amongst the group. He was being shoved into the backseat of the vehicle by someone who John did not recognize at first- not until the man turned around at the sound of the metal door.

_Dr. Vaughn_?

John’s mind reeled- they had lost contact of the doctor after the whole XRN debacle. But now it was glaringly clear who the scientist had aligned himself with.

Anna suddenly appeared from around the opposite side of the SUV, smiling wickedly. “John! How nice of you to join us!” She walked through the beams of the headlights, crossing to where Dr. Vaughn and one other man were standing.

John advanced cautiously with Val right at his side, their guns both trained at Anna. He glanced around at his surroundings, trying to see if there might be anyone lying in wait. Empty, burned-out houses crumbled in the large open field around them, hulking away into the snowy darkness, but John saw no movement in any of the structures.

Anna gave a small movement of her hand and Dr. Vaughn yanked Dorian out of the back seat where he had just been trying to shove him. John felt his breath lodge painfully in his chest when Dorian’s eyes locked on his. A long, jagged gash ran under Dorian’s right eye starting hear his ear and cutting across his cheek almost all the way to the bridge of his nose. Purple fluid had caked and dried on his skin under the wound. His hands were held up against his chest and John could see as he approached closer that his wrists were bound together with a length of black cording. Dorian was cradling his right hand with his left and John instantly understood where the copious amounts of the purple fluid splattered across the ground had come from: his right hand was nearly destroyed, smashed almost beyond all recognition. Purple liquid flowed freely from between his broken fingers, coating down the sleeve of his sweater in bright streaks. John distantly remembered Rudy telling him once that Dorian’s locator chip was housed in the palm of his hand and could understand now why his signal had been lost.

Unadulterated fury bloomed hotly in John’s chest and he aimed his gun higher, leveling it at Anna’s head as he came to a stop ten feet before the SUV. “Let him go and I might let you live,” he snarled.

Anna only laughed, bringing up her own weapon, a TDI Vector, pointing it right at John’s chest. She reached out with her free hand to grasp Dorian’s shirt collar and tug him next to her.

Dorian’s eyes were full of horrified dismay as he looked at his mate. “John, what are you doing here? You need to leave.”

John readjusted his grip on his pistol, adrenaline and fear pounding through him relentlessly. “I’m not going anywhere without you, Dorian,” he said, shaking his head.

A pained spasm suddenly clenched at his back, radiating around towards his belly and he blinked in surprise, sucking in a sharp breath, but still somehow managing to keep his gun trained on Anna.

Anna smiled maliciously. “Oh, you two are just so sweet.” She tightened her fist in Dorian’s shirt collar. “But I already let our little DRN know that if you happened to show up I would kill you right in front of him. Isn’t that right, _Dorian_?”

Dorian nodded, his brows drawing together over pained eyes. “Please, John. Please just go.” His voice trembled and broke over the last word.

John shook his head again stubbornly, letting loose a few snowflakes that had been in his hair and looked over at Anna. “I’ll get you the Immobilux. I’ll get you whatever the fuck you want if you’ll just let him go.”

Anna and Dr. Vaughn exchanged a glance behind Dorian’s back. And they both burst out laughing.

John saw Val tense out of the corner of his eye just as another radiating cramp gripped his middle and lower back. He swallowed back a moan and drug in a deep breath through flared nostrils. _Goddamn Braxton Hicks. Not now,_ he thought to himself.

Anna’s chuckles faded away. “You think this is still about the Immobilux, John?” she asked, her voice overly bright. “God, you’re even dumber than I thought.”

John and Val stared at her, completely baffled.

Dr. Vaughn took half a step closer to Dorian, an EMP prod held out mere inches from Dorian’s neck. “We’ve already got what we want,” he said, looking over at John. “We paid a little visit to my dear colleague Dr. Lowery, and he told me everything there was to know about that little _project_ he was involved in. I had heard a few rumors about what he had been doing, but when I found out what he had created with one of my DRN’s, I knew the Insyndicate would do well to get their hands on it.”

John was taken aback. “What the _fuck_ would the Insyndicate need with a dual dynamic DRN? What possible reason could you even have?” he demanded hoarsely.

Anna suddenly released a low growl that reverberated out through her chest. “You have no idea what it’s like over here, John,” she snapped. “The lack of resources and suppressants has nearly destroyed us. We are _half_ of what we used to be. But the Insyndicate has come up with a way to become stronger- strong enough to take back our city. And that solution has shown itself to be in Dorian. We will use his 'endowments' to grow our packs larger than they’ve ever been, and there will be no stopping us.”

Fragmented and broken lines of blue scrambled haltingly down Dorian’s cheek. “I would never agree to it!” he cried angrily. “I would rather see myself dismantled and deactivated before I would ever even consider helping the Insyndicate in any way.” He turned his head to the side to glare at Anna, a muscle jumping taughtly in his jaw. “And besides, I’ve had all traces of human DNA removed. What would you even have me use to ‘grow your packs’? Packs that you yourselves have decimated with your own infighting and corruption?”

Another spasm clutched John’s lower half and he nearly doubled forward, but instead shifted on his feet, biting back the pained sob rising in his throat. He rubbed one hand across his belly as the other still tightly gripped his gun.

Dorian looked back at John, concern displacing the fury that had just been on his face. John shook his head and blinked back the tears that began crowding his eyes. _I’m fine_ , he mouthed silently.

Anna, oblivious to the exchange between John and Dorian, scoffed at Dorian’s refusal. “You think we need your permission or DNA, Dorian? Vaughn has already engineered a pure strain of genetically enhanced material that you’ll deliver to all of our waiting Omegas…after we wipe your hard-drive of course.” She brought her face in close to Dorian’s ear, purposefully whispering loud enough for John to hear, “You’ll be so completely blank you won’t even remember the _name_ John Kennex.”

And the look of utter devastation on Dorian’s face, that look of absolute despair, coupled with the goddamn heart wrenching hopelessness John felt constricting in his own chest, was finally enough to break him. He sank to his knees in the soft snow, dropping his head down in a sign of complete submission. “Anna, please. I beg you, don’t do this. Whatever else I can do, I will. I’ll tear down The Wall with my own hands, if that will be enough. But please, do not take Dorian away from me.” A tear tracked down his cheek, falling into the snow at his knees, and still he kept his head bowed.

“You think tearing down The Wall will be enough, John?” she hissed. “The Insyndicate is planning to build a master race capable of taking back what is rightfully ours, of overthrowing every last system of government you have, of taking apart every single thing you believe you earned, and you think tearing down The Wall is what I would really have you do for me? There is no way to stop what has already begun, John. You would stand in the way of the force of the Insyndicate? Risk yourself? And for what, a Synthetic?”

“I love him,” John rasped out.

Another spasm clutched at his belly, this one lasting longer than any other had, and he looked up slowly, fighting against the pain.

The expression on Dorian’s face was a flurry of emotion, whereas the looks on Anna’s and Dr. Vaughn’s were of pure shock.

John swallowed hard, locking his eyes on Dorian’s, needing to confess what he had felt so long in his heart to be true but had barely had the courage to admit to himself. “I love you, Dorian. I love you with everything I am, with every broken piece of myself.” He choked back a sob as another tear slipped down his cheek. “Those pieces don’t really fit back into something that’s whole anymore, and I don’t know if they ever will, but it’s me- it's all the good parts and all the bad parts, and it's me." His voice cracked and he swallowed against the lump in his throat. "I love you, Dorian, with whatever pieces are left of my heart."

Broken lines of blue chased up Dorian's face and he immediately started stepping forward, but Anna yanked him back roughly.

"Enough!" she shrieked, bringing her gun up and leveling it at John’s heart from across the space that separated them. “I thought I had already killed you once before, John, and you’ve caused me nothing but trouble since. I’m going to take great pleasure in making sure I finish the job this time.”

Her finger settled over the trigger, squeezing back without hesitation before John even had a chance to brace himself.

Time itself suddenly came to a near standstill and John watched with disjointed feeling of disbelief as the next few seconds unfolded before him. Val dove in front of him just as Anna fired, taking the slug right in the middle of her chest, but not before bringing up her own pistol and unloading two rounds. The shots went wide right, thrown off Val’s intended target of Anna, but found their home in the chest of the Insyndicate accomplice beside Dr. Vaughn who had been reaching for his sidearm.

Dorian had taken full advantage of the confusion, wrenching himself away from Anna’s grasp and breaking free of the rope binding his wrists in one smooth movement, turning to clamp his uninjured hand onto Vaughn’s forearm, delivering a debilitating electrical shock that instantly rendered the doctor unconscious before he had a chance to hit Dorian with the EMP prod.

Anna snarled furiously at the sudden turn of events and tried to squeeze off another shot at John. He screwed his eyes shut, feeling his heart stop dead in his fucking chest when he heard the solitary report of a gunshot ringing out loudly in the open field.

He cracked his eyes open slowly at the sound of Anna releasing a pained howl and followed the line of his own arm, seeing the barrel of his gun releasing a thin stream of smoke. Looking up further, John could see Anna lying in a crumpled heap beside the SUV, clutching desperately at her chest. Blood flowed profusely through her fingers, saturating the snow beneath her in a widening pool of red. She looked up at him with narrow, hate-filled eyes, her face ashy and paled. “I always get what I want, John,” she sneered, attempting to raise her weapon yet again.

But Dorian was suddenly there, standing over her, his body thrumming with barely checked rage. “Not this time, Anna,” he growled, plucking her gun out of her hand and tossing it aside.

She glared up at him for one seemingly endless moment before her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped back into the blood drenched snow surrounding her.

Dorian quickly made his way over to where John still knelt, falling to his knees before him. “John, we need to get you out of here. Are you hurt?” he asked frantically, reaching out his intact hand toward John’s face.

John shook his head, looking down at Val lying half-way in his lap. “I’m fine. But Val…she’s been hit,” he said unevenly, his retreating adrenaline making him feel depleted and achy, especially in his lower back and stomach. He reached a shaky hand down to Val’s throat, checking for a pulse.

Her eyes suddenly flew open and she sat up abruptly with a gasp, surprising the everliving hell out of John and Dorian both. She unzipped her coat and wrenched her blouse open sending buttons flying out in all directions. “It hit the vest!” she cried happily.

All three of them looked down at her chest as she plucked the smashed bullet from the middle of the kevlar. “It hit the vest,” she said again in disbelief.

Dorian gave her a blinding smile that he quickly turned onto John, inching as close to him as he could. He brought his hand up again, rubbing John’s cheek lightly. “I love you, John,” he whispered.

John turned his face into the touch, stretching forward to press a kiss to Dorian’s mouth. He pulled back slightly after a moment, resting his forehead against his mate’s. “I love you too, Dorian,” he said hoarsely. “I love you so goddamn much.”

He was about to go in for another kiss when a powerful cramp gripped his stomach. He jerked back, crying out in pain and wrapping his arms around his belly.

“John?” Dorian exclaimed, settling his hand against the side of John’s neck. “Is it Braxton Hicks again?”

John gasped through another spasm, shaking his head as tears began crowding his eyes. He felt Val move closer to his side, setting her hand on his shoulder. “No,” he rasped with a grimace. “This is different.” He looked up at Dorian, frightened. “I think something’s wrong.”

Dorian’s eyes widened and he quickly reached his hand up under John’s jacket and shirt, blue lines running furiously down his wounded cheek. John’s heart pounded as pain continued to constrict around him. He felt Dorian frantically move his hand around his belly that was now hardened with the contractions that gripped his stomach. He groaned and grit his teeth together tightly.

Dorian shook his head roughly, pulling his hand out from under John’s clothes. “I can’t see anything, not without both hands.” He looked over at Val kneeling beside him. “We need to get him to the hospital. Call for an ambulance.”

Dorian looked back to John, bringing a trembling hand up to brush away the tears streaking down John’s cheek. “It’s going to be fine, John,” he said reassuringly. “We need to get you up though, so we can get back through the tunnel, okay?”

John nodded, panting for breath as another contraction hit him. He settled a hand in Dorian’s and was about to push himself up to his feet when he felt a gush of warm, wet liquid soak his pants.

He glanced down, doing his best not to panic. “I think my water just broke,” he said in a strained voice, looking up at Dorian through unshed tears.

He could not say with any certainty that he’d be able to make it back through the tunnel in enough time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, that was an intense chapter if I do say so myself! *takes deep calming breaths*   
> I think you guys probably noticed already, but I changed the chapter count from ? to 24, which is a *tentative* end, meaning it may be two more chapters or just one... I'll just have to see how everything progresses story-wise. And don't worry, everything will be resolved! I promise! Thanks again and always for all your support, you guys mean the world to me! And I mean that in the most sincere way possible ^_^ <3


	23. Perpetually Warming Glow

John slowly looked up at Dorian standing in front of him as snow continued to drift down around them, distantly hearing Val calling in an ambulance and a backup unit to assess the scene.

Dorian knelt back down, blue lines scrawling down his face in uneven and broken lines, and John knew he was receiving feedback information on what Val had just requested.

“The ambulance is on the way, John, but they won’t be able to fit a stretcher through the tunnel. Can you walk if I help you up?” His steel blue eyes searched John’s face desperately.

John blinked his tears back quickly and blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when he felt his most recent contraction subside. He hadn’t been timing the spasms, but now that he had a moment to think without that overwhelming pain short circuiting his brain he thought he might have enough time to get through the tunnel before the next one hit, as long as he could get to his feet in the next few seconds. And as much as he didn't want to bring Caiden into this world in a goddamn snow-covered field, and for all the unease he still felt that his labor wasn't progressing the way it should be, he knew he'd better get his ass in gear.

He nodded his readiness to Dorian who quickly jumped up and held out his uninjured hand.

“You’ll have to wait just a little bit longer, Caiden,” John said hoarsely looking down at his belly. He latched onto Dorian’s outstretched hand and pushed to his feet with a groan.

He glanced over at the SUV as he stood, seeing Val handcuffing a groggy and barely conscious Dr. Vaughn. She looked up at him, flashing him an encouraging smile, and John felt a flood of admiration tighten his chest for the woman who had jumped in front of a bullet for him. He knew he could spend his entire damn life trying to express his gratitude and barely scratch the surface of the appreciation he felt for her selflessness.

He gave her a smile and nodded in her direction, but she waved him away lightly. “You can thank me later, John,” she said with a soft, breathless laugh.

He smiled again gratefully and turned when he felt Dorian's hand pull gently on his jacket.

"You make sure to give that baby a kiss from his Aunty Val!" she called over John's shoulder as they made their way back toward the Wall.

John let out a throaty chuckle and ran a hand down his belly. “You come down to the hospital and you’ll be able to do it yourself,” John replied, turning his head to look back at her with a slightly unsteady grin.

“Well, let me clean up this mess you made and maybe I will!” she shot back brightly, tugging Dr. Vaughn up to a sitting position against the SUV’s wheelwell.

Dorian grunted out a laugh and John echoed the sound, unspeakably grateful for the little reprieve from the mind numbing pain and desperation he had endured just a few short moments ago. He felt like now, in between contractions and with Dorian safe and by his side once again, that he could actually fucking breathe and collect himself. And as soon as he was finally able to hold Caiden in his arms, he knew he’d be totally and completely at ease.

John continued to make his way to the Wall with Dorian supporting him with a protective hand at his back, more determined than ever to get through that goddamn tunnel, but stopped just a few feet shy of the steps at the heavy sound of booted footfalls echoing up from the concrete corridor.

Dorian immediately moved to stand in front of John, a low growl rumbling in his chest and electric blue pulsing out a pattern on his temple. John pulled his gun from its holster, warily eyeing the tunnel over Dorian’s shoulder, trying to brace himself for the next wave of Insyndicate thugs he was almost  fucking certain that Anna must have called for before she died.

Detective Richard Paul suddenly appeared from the tunnel, his MX directly behind him. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as soon as he saw Dorian’s protective stance and John’s drawn weapon.

“Jesus Christ! It’s just me, guys!” he said, holding up his hands.

John blew out a relieved sigh and Dorian relaxed visibly, standing aside so Richard and his MX could finish making their way up the steps.

He strode the few feet to where John was standing, a scowl tugging his mouth into a frown. “Better learn how to keep that DRN on a shorter leash,” he growled up at John.

John felt an angry blush creep across his cheeks and was about to bring his fist up to wipe that grimace from Richard’s face when the detective’s frown faltered into a barely repressed smirk. “Just givin’ you a hard time, Kennex,” he chuckled heartily, “If I don’t do it, who will?”

John huffed out a laugh, his breath puffing out in a foggy cloud, glancing in Dorian’s direction. He could think of at least one other person.

Richard shot a meaningful look between John and Dorian both before clapping John on the shoulder.”Ambulance pulled up right when I got here. You best get your ass through that tunnel ‘cause I don’t know the first damn thing about delivering a baby.” He smiled as he stepped around John and Dorian, jogging quickly to where Val was standing.

Dorian looked over at John, blue light dancing over his lacerated cheek, as they stood at the mouth of the steps leading down. “Just a little further, okay?”

John nodded, rubbing a hand over his stomach when he felt an uneasy movement deep inside. “Let’s do this,” he said huskily.

He lumbered his way down the stone stairs with Dorian at his back, squinting into the dimly lit tunnel, wondering absently if the underground channel was part of the Wall’s original construction or if the Insyndicate had built it themselves. He quickly lost the notion when his eyes adjusted to the shadowy corridor and he saw the purple fluid remnants of Dorian’s wounds splattered on the floor- that brightly colored trail that he had followed in the opposite direction not all that long ago when his heart was heavy and pained with the possibility of never seeing Dorian again.

He swallowed thickly and shook the memory away, focusing all his concentration on getting through the all-too-confining tunnel. He could feel Dorian’s warmth at his back, hear his sure footsteps behind him, and he let his presence center him. He looked ahead of himself, seeing the faint outline of stairs and snow drifting down from the opening  and let out a relieved sigh.

His relief was short lived though, as another contraction hit him in a violently cresting wave. He stopped abruptly with a loud groan and leaned forward to brace his hands on his knees as pain shuddered through him.

He heard Dorian’s voice behind him, echoing unevenly off the concrete walls. “It’s okay, John. Just breathe.” He settled a trembling hand on John’s hip, rubbing reassuringly.

Tears gathered in John’s eyes and he pulled in panting breaths. He knew this was supposed to hurt and fuck if he hadn’t suffered through more than his fair share of pain in his lifetime, but something here wasn’t right. He knew, deep down, that something was really, _really_ wrong. And that thought scared the everliving shit out of him. He had already almost lost Dorian today and it very nearly devastated him- he didn’t know _what_ he’d do if he lost Caiden. The possibility that John himself might not survive never even occurred to him, so focused was he on the life of his unborn child.

He heard Dorian keeping count behind him and latched onto the sound of his voice as a comfort. And when Dorian reached the number sixty, he felt his contraction release. He fought to catch his breath and straightened slowly, swiping at a bead of perspiration on his temple.

Dorian stroked his hand down John’s upper arm, sending soothing ribbons of calm curling from his mark outward. “Good job, baby,” he praised, and John felt his heart stumble a bit at the endearment. Dorian hadn’t ever called him anything other than ‘John’.

A flood of adrenaline suffused through him as the pain faded and he reached across his chest to squeeze Dorian’s hand where it rested on his shoulder. Dorian pressed closer against John’s back in the narrow tunnel and settled a tender kiss to John’s cheek.

“We’ll be holding our son here in no time,” he murmured against John’s ear.

John squeezed Dorian’s hand again before letting it go and pulling in a deep breath. “Less time than that, I think,” John replied, rubbing a hand down the side of his belly.

They quickly made their way to the end of the tunnel and up the steps to see two squad cars, Richards’ cruiser beside John’s, and an ambulance. A paramedic jumped down from the back, rushing over to John as the snow began to fall in heavier drifts.

She looked up at him, brushing a snow dusted lock of blonde hair from her eyes. “Let’s get you to the hospital, Mr. Kennex.”

John nodded and stepped to the open doors of the ambulance, Dorian right at his side. Taking a deep breath, he leveraged himself inside with help from Dorian and the medic and sat down on the stretcher with a huff. Dorian was just about to pull himself inside when the paramedic stopped him.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait here with the other synthetics,” she said sternly, motioning over to two MX’s standing beside the squad cars.

Dorian looked up at John helplessly, electric blue scrambling over his cheek.

John shook his head roughly. “The hell he’s staying here. Let him in.”

The medic glanced over at him. “Mr. Kennex, our regulations state...,” she began.

“He’s my mate,” John cut in gruffly, pleased at how easily the words rolled off his tongue. “Let. Him. In.”

The medic looked between John and Dorian, clearly perplexed. Dorian took advantage of her stupor and hauled himself up into the ambulance before she could protest further. He situated himself across from John as John settled back onto the propped up stretcher bed, and after a moment the medic shrugged and swung herself into the ambulance, closing the doors behind her.

“Fire it up, Garcia!” she shouted towards the front of the cab. She sat beside Dorian as the ambulance roared to life and took off, bumping down the snow covered road toward the hospital.

“Let’s take a look at what we’ve got here, Mr. Kennex,” she said, reaching out to unzip John’s coat and pull up his shirt.

John helped her yank the material up over his belly.

“How close are your contractions?” the medic asked, grabbing for a portable ultrasound machine.

John shook his head. He had no fucking idea how close, but they felt like they were almost on top of each other.

Dorian looked over at the paramedic, blue lines pulsing for a moment. “There was four minutes between the last two that I measured.”

The medic nodded. “Sounds like you’re in true labor, Mr. Kennex. How long did the most recent contraction last?” she asked, rolling the sonogram wand around John’s belly, trying to get a good look.

John remembered Dorian’s count when his most recent spasm hit in the tunnel. “It was sixty seconds,” he said, his brows drawing together, “but I have this feeling that something might be wrong.” That feeling had not left him since his contractions had first started, that roiling uneasiness that churned his stomach and clenched at his heart.

“Let’s just get a good look at what’s going on in there,” the medic said, not taking her eyes off the sonogram’s holo-screen.

Her hand suddenly stilled and she swallowed visibly. She looked over at John, concern playing across her face. He instantly felt his heart plummet.

“The baby’s breech right now,” she explained gently, “and his umbilical cord is wrapped around his neck.”

John’s breath hitched painfully in his chest and he groped out for Dorian’s hand, grasping it tightly when he felt it curl around his fingers.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Mr. Kennex. We’ll just have to get you into surgery for a c-section as soon as we get to the hospital.” She looked toward the front of the ambulance. “Garcia, call into Memorial General and tell them to prep a cesarean!”

John’s heart rate ratched up and he looked over at Dorian. Electric blue burst down his face as he held John’s hand tightly. “It’s okay, John. They’ve got the room ready for you.”

John heard a male voice shout back from the cab. “Memorial General’s just radioed back. Room’s ready and prepped. ETA: two minutes.”

The medic looked back to John just as another contraction hit him. He groaned and lurched forward on the stretcher, bringing his knees up and clenching Dorian's hand in bone-crunching grip. Wave after wave of pain crashed against him and he moaned.

"Nice deep breaths, Mr. Kennex," the medic instructed. "We're almost to the hospital."

John grit his teeth together, feeling a deep, primal urge rush up inside him. "I- I need to push," he rasped breathlessly.

The paramedic quickly shook her head. “I need you to fight it, Mr. Kennex. It’s not safe for you or the baby right now.”

"Goddammit!" John shouted harshly, trying to resist the reflex as best he could with the contractions seizing him so completely. Dorian was suddenly at his side, pressing his forehead to John’s sweat-slicked temple. “I’m here with you, John. I’m here.”

John sobbed with the calm those words suffused through him and concentrated all his efforts on breathing, on fighting through the contraction.

“You’re doing great, John,” Dorian said against his cheek as the ambulance pulled up to the hospital.

John nodded brusquely, feeling the contraction finally release. He settled back on the stretcher, gasping for breath as the medic opened the ambulance doors and hopped out. She started tugging the stretcher out, joined quickly by the ambulance driver, and soon John was out of the vehicle.

Dorian ran beside him as the stretcher was wheeled into the hospital, looking down at John with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

John looked away, trying to control his breathing, feeling his heart knock heavily against his ribcage. His eyes fell to his belly when he felt a deeply uneasy movement shift inside. “Just hold on a little longer, Caiden,” he whispered.

The next few moments passed by in a blur as John was suddenly dressed in a hospital gown and a gauzy blue cap was fitted on his head before he was wheeled into the awaiting surgical suite. He looked around the room anxiously as he was hooked up to a handful of various machines, not seeing Dorian.

A tight coil of panic settled around his heart as a curtain was set up over his chest, blocking his view of his stomach. And then Dorian was there beside him, dressed in a light green sterile smock with a cap on his head identical to John’s. John let out a strained, nervous sounding laugh at the sight of him and Dorian smiled, leaning in close to John’s face.

“I’m here, John. I’m here with you,” he murmured against John’s lips before settling a soft kiss there.

Waves of serenity washed John’s mark in a warming stripe just as a numbing anesthetic was injected into the IV on John’s arm. The dull, aching throb squeezing through him left his body in a slow, thorough push and he looked up as a surgeon came to stand beside his head. A surgical mask was covering his mouth and all John could see was his eyes.

“Mr. Kennex, I’m Doctor Sellers and I’m here to take care of you. Are you ready to see this baby of yours?”

John and Dorian both nodded emphatically.

Dr. Sellers eyes crinkled up at the corners in a smile that was covered over by his mask. He walked back behind the small screen shielding John as a small group of bescrubbed people maneuvered around the room, performing various tasks.

John suddenly felt Dorian grasp his hand and he looked up, keeping his eyes locked on his mate, trying not to focus on the strangely muted tugging and pulling sensations he felt low on his belly.

It was not long before John heard Dr. Sellers exclaim, “One healthy baby boy!”

Which was quickly followed by a hearty squealing wail. The sound was absolute music to John’s ears. He glanced up at Dorian, grinning broadly as tears began crowding his eyes. The look Dorian gave him back was so full of unadulterated love that it momentarily stole John’s breath.

Dr. Sellers appeared from around the curtain with Caiden wrapped in a thin blanket and settled him down on John’s chest. John instantly brought his arms up, IV lines still dangling down, cradling the baby gently. He craned his neck to look at his son, blinking back the tears blurring his vision. Delicate wisps of tight brown curls clung damply to the baby’s small head above a face that was scrunched up with tightly closed eyes and a pouting mouth. Light, caramel colored skin could be seen under a rosy tint that covered Caiden’s little body.

Dorian knelt down to be at eye level with John and Caiden, an enormous grin splitting his face as he pressed a tender kiss to John’s temple. He brought his uninjured hand up, tracing a light touch down their son’s cheek.

“He has your nose,” John remarked to Dorian.

Dorian laughed lightly, soft streaks of blue scrambling over his cheek. “Luck of the draw,” he replied.

A nurse came over to take Caiden to the nursery so John could be stitched back together and John found he had a harder time letting go than he thought he would.

“I’ll bring him back in once you’re settled in your recovery room,” the nurse assured gently.

John nodded but watched her like a hawk as she left the room.

Dorian stayed right by John’s side the entire time he was being closed up, determinedly ignoring the curious glances from the hospital staff. The pointed stares were not lost on John and he made an obvious show of their relationship, countering each glance with a challenging stare of his own, unabashedly bringing Dorian’s hand up to press a kiss to his mate’s palm. The look of adoration Dorian gave him immediately flooded his heart with a fluid mix of pride and love.

It was not long after that that John was settled in his hospital room, exhausted but happy- happier than he’d felt in a long damn time, with a sleeping baby boy cradled in his arms.

Dorian crawled into the bed with John, curling up against his side gently, grazing feather-light touches against Caiden’s face. “I can’t believe he’s finally here,” he said, his voice soft with wonder.

John nodded; he could barely believe it himself.

“He’s a fighter, John. Just like you,” Dorian whispered.

John chuckled lightly, glancing down at the as-yet-to-be-repaired gash on Dorian’s cheek. “I think that’s a trait he got from both of us.”

And as if on cue, Rudy entered the room with a soft knock, holding a small toolkit in one hand and a package of diapers in the other. He smiled broadly, seeing the little family all on the bed together.

“I heard about the injuries you sustained, Dorian, and brought over my tools to patch you up,” he offered softly.

“Right now, Rudy?” Dorian asked with a reluctant sigh, sitting up beside John.

Rudy shifted slightly. “You want to be able to hold your son, don’t you?”

Dorian glanced down to his ruined hand, wrapped with gauze to stem the flow of fluid, and made his way off the bed after pressing a kiss to John and then Caiden’s cheek. “Be right back,” he said, smiling.

The room settled into a comfortable silence after Rudy and Dorian stepped out and John leaned back on the bed, dozing off for a moment.

He quickly opened his eyes when he heard another knock on the door. Sandra came in holding a vase of bright yellow flowers, a gentle smile curving her mouth. “Congratulations, John,” she said softly, setting the flowers on a nearby table.

“Thanks,” he replied, adjusting Caiden in his arms.

Sandra came to the side of the bed to get a closer look at the sleeping baby. “I won’t stay too long,” she said, her voice barely over a whisper, “but I wanted to let you know that we’ve got teams infiltrating the Insyndicate’s bases using the hidden tunnel you found under the Wall. And I called in as many rescue teams as I could to asses the remaining packs over there to get them the necessary resources.” She glanced down to Caiden before looking back up at John. “You did a lot of good today, Kennex.”

John nodded and shrugged. “It’s all part of the job.”

Sandra shook her head lightly, bringing her hand up to touch gingerly at Caiden’s cheek. “Not all of it,” she replied softly. She glanced up at John before continuing, “Give Dorian my congratulations when you see him.”

John looked up at her, eyes wide.

Sandra chuckled and waved her hand dismissively. “Oh please, John. I’ve known since the Silas case.”

John blushed and shifted a little on the bed. “Look, Sandra, if you need me to resign…” he began.

Her eyes glittered warmly. “What? And lose one of my best detectives?” She shook her head. “Take all the maternity leave you need, John. There’s a spot open for you whenever you’re ready to come back.”

She turned to go and John watched her leave with a stunned gratitude, cradling Caiden a little closer to his chest.

Dorian came back in the room, having missed the Captain by only a few minutes. He held up his new hand for John to see, grinning from ear to ear. Electric blue danced down his repaired cheek as John held Caiden out for him.

He cradled their son gently against his chest as he stood beside the hospital bed. “Hi there, Caiden. I’m your papa,” he said softly, rocking gently from side to side, “It is so nice to finally meet you.”

John watched them for a long moment, his heart full of a contentment he had thought, before meeting Dorian, that he’d never deserve to feel. He was slowly beginning to understand and accept  the worth Dorian held in him- a worth John felt he could not deny himself anymore.

Dorian came to sit down on the edge of the bed, glancing over at John before looking back down to Caiden. “I didn’t know,” he began, his voice unsteady with emotion, “I didn’t know it was possible to feel so much love for someone.” He glanced back to John, a single line of blue tracking down his cheek, and John felt his mark light up in a wide, warming stripe.

John pulled in a deep, shuddering breath and shook his head because he didn’t know it was possible either- He didn’t know until now that it was possible to feel that much love for one person, let alone two.

 

///////////////////////////////////////////

 

_Epilogue:_

 

“Papa! Papa!”

Dorian looks up from the picnic table he is setting at the sound of Caiden shouting his name gleefully.

His son is running toward him through the grassy field beside the tables, brown curls catching the sunlight and bouncing wildly, a wide, happy grin stretching his small mouth. John is chasing him and chuckling breathlessly, arms stretching out toward the boy.

“I’m gonna get you!” John warns playfully.

Caiden squeals in excitement, his eyes, such a startlingly beautiful mix of hazel-brown and blue, are wide as saucers as he jumps toward Dorian before John can scoop him up.

Dorian catches Caiden and swings him up in the air, laughing heartily as Caiden squeals again.

John comes up in front of him just as Dorian tucks Caiden in close, cradling him against his chest to have better access for tickles.

Caiden giggles until he gets the hiccups.

John plants his hands on his hips. “He’s too fast for me!” he says in mock petulance.

Caiden smiles with smug pride, glancing between his daddy and papa. “I’m really fast!”

Dorian glances up at John, grinning. “It’s not everyday you lose a foot race to a three year old.”

John shakes his head, rubbing a hand over the side of his neck, looking down at Dorian, his hazel eyes shining brightly in the late summer sunlight. “I guess my days of being the the White Cheetah are behind me,” he laughs.

“They have been behind you for awhile, John,” Dorian retorts with a goodnatured chuckle.

John moves in closer, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You take that back!”

Dorian shakes his head. “Make me,” he challenges.

“Make me! Make me!” Caiden shouts, still huddled against his papa’s chest.

John rolls his eyes. “Oh great, look what you’ve taught him!”

Dorian shuffles through his memory banks. “Hey man, I was _not_ the first one that said that around him,” he protests. “Two months ago, on Wednesday the twelfth, you…”

John huffs out a long suffering sigh and silences Dorian with a kiss.

Live currents of love and wholeness and fulfillment shoot through him in electric waves from the sudden contact and he knows if he was capable of drawing in breath, it would have been stolen away succinctly and thoroughly by John’s mouth.

“Ew! Kisses!” Caiden cries out in a muffled shout as he is pressed between his fathers.

Dorian and John both draw back, laughing.

Dorian sets his squirming son back down on the grass and just as soon, the boy is off again, running excitedly through the sun-drenched field.

John shoots Dorian a glance, grinning widely, and takes off after Caiden, followed quickly by Dorian himself.

 

**The End**

 

                                                                        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! That was a long chapter! But in the end, I felt that I had to write it all in one go as to create a cohesive ending :)  
> This story has certainly come a long way from the one-shot I had intended it to be in the beginning. I have come to love these characters sooo very much, and that love has grown to encompass each and every one of you, my dear readers. This story has been a labor of love, pardon the pun, and is the first Omega-verse story I have tackled as well as the first Mpreg story. I really do hope you enjoyed the journey as much as I have. ^_^  
> I want to extend my warmest, most sincere thanks to everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos on this fic. You have all given me the inspiration and drive to publish almost one chapter a week since December and I could not ask for a better support system <3  
> If you would like to keep in touch with me you are always more than welcome to visit me on my tumblr page: http://lopsided-whiskey-grin.tumblr.com/   
> Thanks again for everything! I love you all more than you know <3


	24. Forged in the Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Happy Anniversary"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One year ago today I completed this story. It has become a defining piece in the list of fan fics I have written over the years and is one that I hold very dear to my heart. I wanted to write this special anniversary chapter as a 'thank you' to all of you for reading and commenting and leaving kudos still to this day. You are the ones that have kept me going and have spurred me to write so many more stories.   
> I hope you all enjoy this special, one-time only anniversary continuation of Long, Slow Burn!  
> xoxo, Lopsided Whiskey Grin

After a long, trying day down at the precinct followed by rushed evening of stopping by Rudy’s lab for a prosthetic recalibration, picking Caiden up from daycare, throwing some sort of dinner together, starting a load of laundry and finally getting the kid to bed, John and Dorian were both utterly exhausted -- not that that was much different than any other day, really. It was just how their lives had been for the past four years.

But for as bone-damn-tired as John was, he knew he wouldn’t trade any of it for the world. He had everything he wanted: a smart, endlessly precocious son, a devoted and understanding mate, and a life that was bursting with a love that for so long he had thought he was undeserving of. The crazy schedules, potty training charts and t-ball games left him feeling a little haggard at times, but it was a small price to pay for such a great gain -- being able to watch his son grow and learn every day with Dorian right by his side was more than he could really ask for.

With a contented, albeit tired, sigh, John slumped down on the bed he shared with Dorian then let out a hearty yawn. It was nearing midnight by the time they had both finished picking up around the house and locking it up for the night and John’s eyes felt heavy with the pull of sleep. He was scooting back on the bed and turning onto his side to slide under the covers, already halfway to dream-town, when he felt the mattress dip behind him and heard Dorian’s voice drift across his shoulder.

“John,” he warned gently, “You know you’ll be uncomfortable all night if you sleep with your leg on.”

John huffed out a laugh, cracking one eye open and looking back over his shoulder as he huddled farther under the soft sheets. “Don’t care,” he groused but with a low growl that held little heat. “M’ tired.”

But Dorian would not be swayed. He crossed his arms across his chest where he knelt on the bed, a stern flash of blue pulsing down his right temple. "It's more for my benefit than yours, John. I will not get a complete charge with you tossing and turning all night."

John smirked, not able to pass up the opportunity to pester Dorian just a _little_ bit. "Oh, c'mon," he said, rolling over to face his mate and wriggling his eyebrows, "You know how much more exciting our day would be without you being fully charged. And it's been awhile since you've punched Richard…”

Dorian scoffed and rolled his eyes before John could finish.

“Don’t think I forgot about that,” John chuckled. “It was a long time ago, but I’ll remember the look on Richard’s face after you gave him that fat lip for the rest of my damn life.” He rolled away, trying to get back under the covers with a self-satisfied grin, but not before catching a glimpse of the mischievous smile curving at Dorian’s mouth.

“If you won’t give me the leg, then I’ll just have to _take_ it,” he heard Dorian say a fraction of a second before he was being tugged backwards across the mattress.

John let out a surprised grunt, still amazed at the absolute strength Dorian harbored but only ever used in the most restrained and gentle ways with him -- strength Dorian had used to bring down perps three times his size, strength he had used to flip a van, strength he had used to break through a pair of standard issue handcuffs that first fateful day he had worked John through his heat so many years ago.

A warm shudder rolled through John at the memory and the playful grappling between them there on the bed, while Dorian tried to grab for John’s leg and John deftly dodged him, quickly turned into something deeper and more heated. The quiet growls and soft grunts morphed into panting moans and hitched sighs within the span of minutes and John forgot all about feeling tired.

He reached a hand up from where he found himself laying on his side facing Dorian, tracing his fingertips over the electric currents of blue that chased across Dorian’s cheek. It was an intricate pattern that John, after a little more than five years together, easily recognized as arousal mixed fluidly with adoration and love. Bringing his face in close, he smashed his lips against Dorian’s, sliding his tongue through those parting and plush lips for a breathless taste while simultaneously humping his hips forward to rub his still clothed erection against Dorian’s. A stuttered groan escaped John’s throat at the beautiful friction and Dorian quickly pressed a finger to his mouth.

“Shhh.." he whispered with a smile, "You’ll wake Caiden."

John nodded, glancing to their bedroom door. It was closed over but not latched or locked, just in case either of them had to get up quickly should their son be sick in the middle of the night or if the kiddo came in, scared because of a bad dream. They had moved into that bigger house near the Bay shortly after Caiden’s first birthday; it was a house that had a big yard and a big kitchen, one that John could see Caiden growing up in. And even though the bedrooms were a little farther apart than John would have liked, especially in those first few years, sound carried far; a fact that John and Dorian had learned early on. Figuring out how to be quiet while still keeping up an active sex life wasn’t hard, but it did take some getting used to, and John sometimes forgot to keep it down, even now.  

Dorian smiled with flash of blue light that sparked brightly in the dark room, and drew his finger away from John’s lips, trailing the long digit down his chin before moving over the top of him in one smooth, graceful motion. He ground his hips down against John’s, eliciting a muted gasp from them both.

John's eyes fluttered closed, feeling that first blissful rush of moisture slick his entrance and his hands sought out and found Dorian’s shoulders, holding on tightly. His heart gave a hard, heavy knock against his rib cage as a dizzying, full-body current of desire plowed through him when Dorian rocked forward again and he absolutely could not wait any longer to feel Dorian pushing inside him.

Shoving Dorian back to give himself enough room, John quickly began shimmying out of his boxers and sleep shirt. Dorian grinned, sitting back on his haunches to tug his own clothes off. Taking full advantage of his position, John easily flipped Dorian onto his back as soon as his mate was naked, scrambling on top of him and straddling his hips with jerky, impatient movements.

He reached behind himself to grasp Dorian’s rigid cock then shifted to line him up against his wet hole, never once taking his gaze away from those stormy blue eyes he had come to love so much. He sank down slowly, drawing out the heavy ecstasy of having Dorian fill him so completely, until he was sitting flush against Dorian’s hips and damn near out of his fucking mind with need.

Dorian stared up at him, love and adoration washing across his face so unabashedly that it punched the breath right out of John's lungs and he felt his heart constrict tight in his chest. He pulled in a shaky gulp of air, flattening his hands against Dorian’s chest to leverage himself up halfway off his lover's cock before slamming back down.

Dorian let out a quiet gasp, throwing his head back and gritting his teeth, his hands flying up to grip John's hips in a rough squeeze. John felt Dorian’s muscles bunch beneath his palms as he thrust up, connecting solidly with John's next push down and John knew then that he wouldn't last long tonight, not with how indescribably perfect every goddamn thing was feeling.

He began bouncing wildly on top of Dorian, completely unrestrained after a few tortuous slides, chasing desperately after the release he felt building in his gut in a maddeningly long, slow burn. His dick bobbing stiffly before himself, John started to ride Dorian harder, edging closer and closer to exploding.

Heart pounding rapidly, a fresh sheen of sweat breaking out over his heated skin, his balls drawing up close to his body - it all signified his quickly approaching release and spurred John to move even faster. But suddenly he felt Dorian’s hand wrap tightly around the base of his straining cock, effectively cutting off the orgasm that had just started rushing forward. John moaned breathlessly, looking down just as Dorian looked up, their eyes connecting with an electric intensity.

"Goddamn it, Dorian," John whispered, so close now that his balls literally ached for release. " _Please_."

Soft blue pulsed down Dorian's cheek and he shook his head, still continuing to thrust deeply into John's ass. "Just hold on for thirty-six more seconds, John," he said.

John stared down at him, incredulous bewilderment overtaking the crushing pull of arousal for a moment. "What? No, I can't, Dorian," he growled, needing to just fucking _come_ already.

Dorian suddenly reached up, grasping the back of John's neck and pulling him down flush against his chest. John's engorged and throbbing dick was instantly trapped between them - a desperately needed friction but not allowing him enough range of motion to get to the finish line. John growled again.

Dorian huffed out a laugh that John could feel rumble across his chest. "You can do it, John. Count it down with me. We're almost there."

John had no idea what significant event that was thirty-six seconds away they had to count down _to_ , but did his best to follow along with Dorian. The seconds ticked by, each one punctuated with a rough thrust up from his mate until they were down to five and John was nearly out of his fucking mind with the need to come.

"Five, four, three, two, _one_ ," Dorian rasped against John's ear, slamming up into his ass with a rough finality. "Happy anniversary, John. Come with me, baby."

And with those words, John utterly fell apart. The orgasm he had been denied suddenly ripped through him in a violently cresting wave, spilling thick spurts of come from his spasming cock where it was still trapped between his body and Dorian's.

With his vision blurring to white from the force of his release and the simultaneous blissful heat of Dorian’s come pouring into him, John glanced up to the bedside clock. He watched in amazement as it rolled over to midnight right along with the words Dorian had just spoken. It struck him immediately; that vivid memory of the night exactly five years ago when Dorian had bonded to him, the night John had finally realized that it was all worth it no matter what. John had never forgotten their anniversary before, but things had been so hectic lately it must have slipped his mind. For as crazy as their lives had been though, John could always count on Dorian to remember. There was such a warm reassurance in that fact, of Dorian holding all of their special dates and memories so securely and succinctly, that it nearly brought John to tears.

But then Dorian’s mouth was suddenly against John's neck, biting and sucking at the skin over his mark, effectively pushing away all other thought in favor of overwrought arousal. His mark lit up instantly, hot and cold at the same time, sending shivers wracking through his whole body and then he was coming all over again. Weak streams of fluid pulsed between them from John's spent cock, smearing into the mess that was already trapped there and he could barely bite back the moan that filtered from his throat.

Dorian stuttered out John's name in a broken whisper, still continuing to push up into his mate but with quickly lagging thrusts that left John breathless, drawing out the pleasure until John winced from the over-sensitization searing across his nerve endings. He squirmed in Dorian’s arms, wanting more of the feeling, but also desperately wanting it to stop; it was too much and not enough all at the same time.

Chuckling knowingly, Dorian pressed a lingering kiss to John's mouth, swallowing up the muffled whimper that John choked out when he rocked up one last time, weakly pressing against John's prostate. John shuddered and drank up Dorian’s kiss with a languid greed, his mark washing his neck in a wide stripe that quickly warmed the entire length of his body.

John thought briefly of sliding his softening cock through the sticky mess trapped between their bellies to work himself back to a full hardness and go another round, but then the drowsy and contented pull of post-orgasm sleep sluiced over him gently and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open. Dorian smiled up at him softly, rolling John over onto his back on the mattress.

After pressing a quick kiss to the corner of John's mouth, Dorian made his way off of the bed for a moment. He returned shortly with a soft towel and began wiping John and himself clean while John hummed appreciatively with each pass of the material over his skin. It was a tender aftercare routine that John always looked forward to, something that only strengthened the bond they shared; Dorian would always take care of John just as John would always take care of Dorian. No matter what happened, no matter how hard or stressful things got, at the end of the day they had each other and that made it all worth it.

Before long they were both wiped clean and back into their sleep clothes, with Dorian kneeling beside John on the mattress. He was reaching forward to detach John's prosthetic and this time John, completely sated and not in the least bit his usual grumpy self, didn't object at all. Dorian removed the leg with the utmost care, setting it gently on its docking station beside the bed before making his way back to John.

They came together again there under the covers, huddled close in each other's arms, just breathing one another in, with Dorian nuzzling the tip of his nose along John's mark. Lying there silently, needing no words, they simply relished in the quiet calm that only the afterglow of lovemaking could provide.

That calm lasted precisely 6.2 seconds.

"Daddy? Papa?" Caiden was suddenly standing in the doorway, bracketed by the warm glow of the night-light in the hall, holding his favorite stuffed giraffe tightly in his little arms. "I had a bad dream. Can I sleep in your bed?"

John and Dorian exchanged a glance and then grins. Could they really ever deny such a request?  "C'mon kiddo, get on up here," John said, patting the space between him and Dorian.

Caiden quickly ran over, his tiny bare feet pattering across the hardwood and echoing sweetly in John's heart, and flung himself up onto the bed. John immediately cuddled him up against his chest, breathing in the endlessly pleasant and intoxicating scent of the soft curls of his son's hair then moved to tuck him under the covers with Dorian’s help.

The three of them snuggled together in the dark, the faint blue light from Dorian’s face illuminating their spot on the bed in calming pulses when he pressed a gentle kiss to Caiden’s cheek. Caiden smiled up at his Papa but shifted restlessly under the covers.

"My dream was real scary," he said in a small whisper that held all the seriousness a four year old could surely muster.

John's chest constricted and he held their son tighter in a reassuring hug. "It's okay, kiddo. It was just a nightmare."  

Caiden nodded and looked between John and Dorian, his expression uncertain.

"We're here for you, Caiden," Dorian said softly. "We'll always be here for you."

John's eyes met Dorian’s over the top of Caiden's head, conveying so much unadulterated love in that one small glance that it stole John's breath. His hand sought and found Dorian's in the dark and he held on tightly, lacing their fingers together across Caiden's middle.

Caiden sighed contentedly, his eyelids already starting to droop closed. “Love you, Daddy. Love you, Papa." he murmured.

John smiled softly and both he and Dorian pressed kisses to their son's hair. He knew if his heart could be any more full of love in that moment that it would surely burst. Squeezing Dorian’s hand again, he looked to Caiden and saw that the kiddo was already passed out.  

Dorian chuckled lightly, running his thumb across the top of John's knuckles. The touch instantly sent out a soothing ribbon of warmth that traveled from John's hand up to linger at his mark. "Happy anniversary, John," he whispered.

John let his eyes slip closed, a fading smile tugging at his mouth with the sleep that started to claim him as he replied, "Happy anniversary, Dorian."


	25. Birthday Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, John Kennex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is my birthday and I decided to give YOU a gift! I wrote up a special birthday continuation chapter just for you! Enjoy and please let me know what you think! ^__^

John woke slowly to the sound of pots and pans clanging together in the kitchen and the soft sound of Dorian and Caiden giggling. Smiling, John sat up and stretched in the early morning sunshine streaming through the windows in his bedroom. He paused for a moment to just listen to his mate and son laughing; it was like music to his ears. 

But then, the smell of something burning wafted into the bedroom and John's curiosity got the better of him. Swinging his leg off the bed, he reached out to grab his prosthetic from his charger beside the nightstand. He walked down the hallway as quietly as he could, thanks in part to his years and years on the police force and partly because he wanted to get the drop on what kind of trouble his family might be getting into. 

Rounding the corner that led to the kitchen, John stopped dead in his tracks and held a fist to his mouth to stop himself from bursting into a fit of laughter. A thin layer of flour seemed to cover every surface, including Dorian and Caiden, and a black line of smoke was drifting up from the toaster. Dorian was standing at the stove with Caiden next to him, both of their backs to John and oblivious of him watching them. 

Dorian was holding a spatula and chuckling in the deep, rich way he had that warmed the bonded mark on John's neck in a wide stripe and sent tingles right down to his toes. John caught a glimpse of a frying pan that had some very overcooked eggs in them and almost started laughing again. Dorian was always pretty far from being the best cook -- the fact that he had every recipe on earth stored in his database was of little use when he hadn't ever even tasted food or had need for it -- but it didn't stop him from occasionally trying his hand at making it. 

“Papa,” Caiden lamented, “You're gonna wake dad!” He elbowed Dorian and shushed him when Dorian chuckled again. 

John crossed his arms and leaned up against the wall leading into the kitchen. “Too late,” he said with a smile. 

Caiden and Dorian turned around simultaneously in a way that was almost comedic. And for the millionth time John was struck by how nearly identical they looked. To be fair, Caiden did have some attributes of John in him, but for the most part he was Dorian’s six year old mini me. 

“It was supposed to be a surprise for your birthday!” Caiden pouted. The S’s were made even more adorable by his son’s two missing front teeth. 

Dorian leaned back against the counter, electric blue tracing up and down his temple and a grin curving his lips. “Doesn't matter anyways,” he said, motioning to the burnt disaster behind him with the spatula.

Caiden bounced across the kitchen to John and gave him a hug. John couldn't believe how fast he was growing; seemed like just yesterday when John was holding Caiden’s little newborn body in the hospital room after all the madness with Anna and her obsession with dual-dynamic DRNs. “We made you a cake too!” he said, grinning his toothless grin. “That turned out good at least!”

Caiden pulled on John's hand and led him over to the counter next to the fridge. There sat the cake in a rectangular glass baking dish. It was smeared unevenly with vanilla frosting and coated with endearingly random patches of rainbow sprinkles. ‘Happy birthday Dad!’ was scrawled across the middle in a red piped icing with the d’s backward. 

“Looks great!” John said. He glanced to Dorian and smiled then looked back to Caiden. “Grab me some plates and I'll dish it up.”

Caiden’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Really? Cake for breakfast?”

Dorian shrugged and stepped over to them, sliding his arm over John's shoulder. “Sure, why not? These eggs are hardly edible and the toast is pretty much ash I think.”

John nodded in agreement, still scenting the burnt bread in the air. “I'm thinking the same thing.” 

Caiden beamed and quickly gathered up plates and forks. But just as John was about to start cutting into the cake, Caiden stopped him. “Wait, dad! You have to have candles! You gotta blow em out too or you don't get your wish!”

Dorian and John exchanged a warm look. And then Dorian got out a handful of birthday candles and took the cake to the kitchen table. John and Caiden followed him over and sat down. Dorian started putting the candles into the soft mounds of frosting and John sent up a silent prayer of thanks that they didn't have as many candles as they really would have needed for his age - the house would be an awful lot more smokey if that were the case. 

Dorian seemed to be thinking the same thing because he smirked at John and a mischievous glint of blue light flashed down his cheek as he lit the candles. “Okay, John,” he said, sitting down beside him, “make a wish!”

John looked down at the messy but perfect cake then up to Dorian and Caiden. Their faces were lit by the candles and the early morning sunshine streaming into the kitchen and were so open with love that John felt a lump form in his throat. What more could he even hope to wish for? His life was so complete already. 

Clearing his throat, John pulled in a deep breath then blew out his candles. “Happy birthday, daddy!” Caiden exclaimed, jumping up to fling his arms around John's neck for a brief hug before going to grab the plates. 

Dorian moved his chair a little closer and gave John a quick but thorough kiss. The mark on John's neck tingled pleasantly. “Happy birthday, John,” he whispered against the corner of John's lips. 

John smiled and stole another kiss from his mate's mouth just as Caiden came back to the table. 

“Ug, kissing,” he said, but John could tell he didn't mind seeing his parents locking lips too much. “What'd you wish for?”

“Now, now,” John said, cutting into the cake. “If I tell you, it won't come true.”

Caiden sighed and sat down, holding his plate out to accept the first piece. “Oh, well. Can I tell you what I would wish for if I was blowing out the candles?”

“No harm in that, I guess,” Dorian said, dishing up a slice for John. They both watched in amusement as Caiden took a big bite of cake. 

“I'd wish for a little brother or sister,” he said with a frosting covered smile. “I've always wanted one. Or two.”

The total unexpectedness of it had Dorian fumbling the serving fork down onto the table with a loud clatter and John nearly choking on his birthday cake in surprise. 

Caiden looked at them, bewildered. “What? Was it somethin’ I said?”  
  



End file.
